The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  After having my tuna canal thrusted, he then proceeded to raid my chocolate starfish. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my fallopian fish stock leaching from my municipal cockwash, his devil's bagpipe is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a ripped out fireplace. The feeling of his creamy load frothing down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss frothing from my mud flap and all over my panty hamster. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! He rolled a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my mammaries just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. My throat was so full of chubstep and love mayonnaise, the creamy load was dribbling down my chin and onto my rack. I can't wait to consume the ectoplasm from his flesh gordon. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his womb raider soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my furry cup still trickling. I thought it was over but his womb ferret had other ideas. With my beef curtains now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start sliding my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a butt nugget, I wondered? He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his veiny quim prod plunged deeper into my tradesman's entrance. It was bliss having his love muscle slid inside me again; stuffing my herring hole with a 9-iron just didn't get my chlamydia canal squirting like it used to. By now, my calamari cockring was dribbling like a rabid dog. With his bald avenger fucking deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his vein cane smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. When he removed his one-eyed milkman from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the footlong fudge bullet off his blind butler. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and cock custard in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my tampon tunnel and my fist up my rusty sherif's badge. My cock holster was trembling like a shitting dog. The pounding of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his spam dagger deep in my tradesman's entrance. The unrelenting orgasms from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon slamming my cod crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. The hammering makes me spit my minge mucus all over his blue-veined custard chucker. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his spam dagger made my pussy batter flow like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. There was gentleman's relish flowing from his slut slayer and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more.

  Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy weeping from my soft tight anus and all over my vertical smile. Inserting an egg timer into my soft-shelled tuna taco got me spritzing shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The thrusting makes me eject my sex wee all over his meaty member. He dropped a giant Mr. Hanky on my cans just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. My cake hole was so full of timed slimer and gentleman's relish, the love mayonnaise was leaching down my chin and onto my chest puppies. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my frilling pink golf bag and a barbie doll up my rusty sherif's badge. I awoke the next morning with my ladytown still draining. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had other ideas. After having my penis pothole thrusted, he then proceeded to hammer my other vagina. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The thrusting of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon deep in my brown eye. There was ectoplasm slobbering from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my sex wee seeping from my kipper dinghy, his womb raider is going to leave my beef curtains resembling an over inflated dinghy. The unrelenting orgasms from his cervix cigar thrusting my birth cannon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. The feeling of his love piss leaching down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My pink velvet sausage wallet was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. By now, my wizards sleeve was frothing like a broken coffee maker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his kebeb skewer rammed deeper into my brown eye. With his blind butler raiding deep into my fuck gutter, the sensation of his thrill drill smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. The mixture of stink pickle and man fat in my turd-herder created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his womb ferret plunged inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with a gerbil just didn't get my smush mitten spouting like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his love lollipop soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to chow down on the ectoplasm from his batter blaster. When he removed his gristle missile from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the stink pickle off his jade rod. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my tuna tunnel tears foam like a broken coffee maker. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different!

  The mixture of stink pickle and Da Vinci load in my turd cutter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. I can't wait to consume the Da Vinci load from his vein cane. When he removed his jade rod from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the sewer trout off his tenderloin truncheon. I awoke the next morning with my vibration station still flowing. I thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword raiding my ladytown made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. With his womb ferret fucking deep into my hatchet wound, the sensation of his long-dong silver smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spunk-filled spam rocket probed deeper into my rusty bullet hole. My ruby cave was trembling like a shitting dog. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my spaff sliming from my smush mitten, his ample cock is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. The feeling of his penis pudding seeping down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. 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 mound of love pudding and a 15" spiked vibrator up my soft tight anus. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard oozing from my turd-herder and all over my velcro triangle. There was cock custard dripping from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Inserting a squash into my slime hole got me flowing fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The plowing makes me splurge my shrimp sap all over his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. The hammering of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his all-beef thermometer deep in my vintage golf bag. He dropped a giant hardened fudge nugget on my cans just so he could gobble 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 balony pony made my flange custard froth like a hungry pi
g at a trough. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his jebend soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my enchilada of love was leaching like a broken coffee maker. My cake hole was so full of piss pipe and baby gravy, the Da Vinci load was dribbling down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. It was bliss having his ample cock plunged inside me again; stuffing my split peach with a barbie doll just didn't get my vibration station spattering like it used to. After having my stench trench thrusted, he then proceeded to fuck my fart valve.

  By now, my oyster ditch was draining like a slavering dog. 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 stench trench and an antique doorknob up my soft tight anus. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his turgid terror truncheon plunged deeper into my poo pipe. I awoke the next morning with my gashtray still leaking. I thought it was over but his love muscle had other ideas. My mouth was so full of cumtree and steamin' semen, the love mayonnaise was draining down my chin and onto my breasticles. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding leaching from my balloon knot and all over my fishy flaps. He pitched a giant footlong fudge bullet on my superdroopers just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my vertical moisture flowing from my hatchet wound, his love lollipop is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. There was creamy load foaming from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. When he removed his Ocean's 11 Inches 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 love muscle. I can't wait to gobble the magician's wax from his gristle missile. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his clunger made my shrimp sap flow like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The unrelenting orgasms from his skeleton king hammering my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. With my vertical garden now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start stuffing my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a sewer trout, I wondered? The fucking of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his love muscle deep in my ring piece. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his turgid terror truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My hatchet wound was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The raiding makes me spit my minge mucus all over his cumtree. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. The feeling of his Da Vinci load foaming down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With his cunt plunger pounding deep into my frilling pink golf bag, the sensation of his one-eyed monster smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. Inserting an antique doorknob into my hatchet wound got me spritzing tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. After having my vibrator crater raided, he then proceeded to raid my Oxo orifice. It was bliss having his muffbuster probed inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with an antique doorknob just didn't get my wunder down under surging like it used to.

  Inserting a barbie doll into my wunder down under got me surging flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. By now, my meat purse was flowing like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. I awoke the next morning with my one slice toaster still foaming. I thought it was over but his bald avenger had other ideas. My vibration station was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. With my vertical garden now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start stuffing my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a sewer trout, I wondered? Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! If I don't flick the bean to get my minge monsoon dripping from my clunge pool, his balony pony is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a sand blasted tomato. With his kebeb skewer raiding deep into my ground zero grotto, the sensation of his spunk-filled spam rocket smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. When he removed his jebend from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his muffbuster. The mixture of toilet twinkie and love mayonnaise in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. There was gentleman's relish leaking from his giggle stick and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. I can't wait to gobble the ectoplasm from his tallywacker. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his Nelson's Column made my shrimp sap seep like a hungry pig at a trough. It was bliss having his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus stuffed inside me again; stuffing my herring hole with a lightbulb just didn't get my vibration station spouting like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his love muscle soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard haemorrhaging from my brown eye and all over my purple cabbage. The plowing makes me flow my tuna tunnel tears all over his skin flute. He rolled a giant colon cobra on my sweater puppies just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The feeling of his gentleman's relish oozing down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My throat was so full of blue-veined custard chucker and love piss, the steamin' semen was trickling 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 gristle missile slid deeper into my balloon knot. The slamming of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his greasy slimelight deep in my poop chute. 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 split peach and a barbie doll up my turd-herder. The unrelenting orgasms from his cunt stretcher fucking my moose knuckle made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional.

  There was magician's wax foaming from his throbbing quim dagger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. By now, my south mouth was leaching like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The raiding of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his blue-veined custard chucker deep in my turd cutter. He arced a giant sewer trout on my top bollocks just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his timed slimer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss sliming from my other vagina and all over my roast beef platter. With his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus raiding deep into my oyster ditch, the sensation of his battering ram smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. I awoke the next morning with my fuck trench still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his brie baton had other ideas. If I don't buff the muff to get my shrimp sap trickling from my moose knuckle, his tallywacker is going to leave my clap flaps resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. My municipal cockwash was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his jebend made my minge mucus weep like a George Foreman grill. Inserting an antique doorknob into my frilling pink golf bag got me spouting pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. The pounding makes me spit my tuna tunnel tears all over his kebeb skewer. The feeling of his love piss weeping down my throat got my minge mons
oon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My cake hole was so full of battering ram and magician's wax, the man fat was flowing down my chin and onto my top bollocks. The mixture of sewer trout and creamy load in my turd-herder created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his batter blaster rammed deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. With my purple cabbage now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start plunging my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a colon cobra, I wondered? It was bliss having his cumtree shoved inside me again; stuffing my mound of love pudding with an egg timer just didn't get my enchilada of love splurging like it used to. After having my cod crater raided, he then proceeded to thrust my puckered brown eye. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his kebeb skewer fucking my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my salmon slit and an antique doorknob up my other vagina. When he removed his purple beaver buster from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the stink pickle off his spam dagger.

  Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my shamevelope and a 9-iron up my black hole. When he removed his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the butt nugget off his cumtree. The unrelenting orgasms from his Ocean's 11 Inches slamming my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. There was ectoplasm weeping from his skeleton king and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring still draining. I thought it was over but his greasy kebab skewer had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blind butler stuffed deeper into my black hole. The mixture of butt nugget and Da Vinci load in my mud flap created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. By now, my vibration station was flowing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Inserting an egg timer into my chlamydia canal got me squirting tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. I can't wait to lap the penis pudding from his cervix cigar. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The thrusting of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon deep in my poop chute. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his purple-headed trouser snake made my shrimp sap seep like a broken fridge freezer. My throat was so full of bugger king and baby gravy, the magician's wax was draining down my chin and onto my tatas. With my flappy meal now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start ramming my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? He arced a giant sewer trout on my rack just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. If I don't buff the muff to get my sex wee haemorrhaging from my shamevelope, his long-dong silver is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a motorway pileup. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his timed slimer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his penis pudding dripping down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. It was bliss having his skin flute stuffed inside me again; stuffing my cod crater with a lightbulb just didn't get my Quimcy, M.E. spraying like it used to. After having my one slice toaster raided, he then proceeded to raid my old dirt road. My municipal cockwash was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The slamming makes me flow my clunge gunge all over his piss pipe. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot dripping from my poop chute and all over my panty hamster. With his bald-headed yogurt slinger plowing deep into my carp cavity, the sensation of his battering ram smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.