The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  By now, my herring hole was slobbering like a leaky tap. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my vibrator crater and a gerbil up my poop chute. The feeling of his ectoplasm draining down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my calamari cockring fucked, he then proceeded to slam my marmite motorway. The hammering of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his womb raider deep in my rusty sherif's badge. If I don't tune the tuna to get my flange custard oozing from my cum dumpster, his balony pony is going to leave my spam castanets resembling a manatee in yoga pants. There was ectoplasm foaming from his meaty member and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his ample cock stuffed inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam cavern with a barbie doll just didn't get my vibrator crater surging like it used to. The plowing makes me gush my fallopian fish stock all over his blue-veined custard chucker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton spear shoved deeper into my soft tight anus. When he removed his battering ram from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the toilet twinkie off his chorizo howitzer. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his clunger made my vertical moisture haemorrhage like a broken fridge freezer. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! The mixture of butt nugget and magician's wax in my ring piece created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Inserting a lightbulb into my gammon alley got me flooding pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his bald avenger plowing deep into my municipal cockwash, the sensation of his womb ferret smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm oozing from my Mavis Fritter and all over my spam castanets. I awoke the next morning with my chlamydia canal still dribbling. I thought it was over but his turgid terror truncheon had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper raiding my pink velvet sausage wallet made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. My cod cave was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his batter blaster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to lap the ectoplasm from his chorizo howitzer. He pitched a giant footlong fudge bullet on my mammaries just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. My cake hole was so full of disco stick and gentleman's relish, the love piss was flowing down my chin and onto my love bubbles.

  Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot weeping from my balloon knot and all over my roast beef platter. My mouth was so full of chorizo howitzer and man fat, the Da Vinci load was draining down my chin and onto my droopies. The slamming of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his womb ferret deep in my marmite motorway. With my hairy goblet now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start ramming my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? There was creamy load sliming from his balony pony and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his all-beef thermometer made my fallopian fish stock weep like a rabid dog. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my chamber of squelch and my fist up my turd cutter. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ramrod probed deeper into my soft tight anus. When he removed his kebeb skewer from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the toilet twinkie off his greasy kebab skewer. The mixture of colon cobra and baby gravy in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. If I don't fluff the muff to get my vertical moisture foaming from my vaginal bacon buffet, his giggle stick is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a rabid baboon's arse. The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod pounding my shame portal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. With his clunger hammering deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet, the sensation of his all-beef thermometer smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. I can't wait to gobble the love mayonnaise from his greasy kebab skewer. I awoke the next morning with my carp cavity still seeping. I thought it was over but his jebend had other ideas. It was bliss having his battering ram stuffed inside me again; stuffing my smush mitten with my fist just didn't get my one slice toaster squirting like it used to. After having my shame portal thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my turd-herder. The slamming makes me eject my vertical moisture all over his cervix cigar. He dropped a giant colon cobra on my droopies just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. My one slice toaster was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Inserting my fist into my herring hole got me squirting shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! By now, my vibration station was haemorrhaging like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his Nelson's Column soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.

  The plowing of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his pink tractor beam deep in my fart valve. With his stilton spear plowing deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his veiny quim prod smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The unrelenting orgasms from his muffbuster slamming my enchilada of love made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his brie baton soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his cunt plunger from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the colon cobra off his throbbing quim dagger. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his flesh gordon stuffed deeper into my other vagina. Inserting a squash into my municipal cockwash got me spraying spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my ground zero grotto and a 9-iron up my cocoa channel. My hatchet wound was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He dropped a giant sewer trout on my mosquito bites just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. With my velcro triangle now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start ramming my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a sewer trout, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my wunder down under still flowing. I thought it was over but his stilton sword had other ideas. I can't wait to lap the penis pudding from his battering ram. The feeling of his love mayonnaise sliming down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! It was bliss having his sperminator slid inside me again; stuffing my frilling pink golf bag with a gerbil just didn't get my cod crater pouring like it used to. If I don't buff the muff to get my vertical moisture sliming from my soft-shelled tuna taco, his love muscle is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a twisted slipper. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and penis pudding in my Oxo or
ifice created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. My throat was so full of devil's bagpipe and Da Vinci load, the ectoplasm was sliming down my chin and onto my boobage. The fucking makes me eject my vertical moisture all over his purple beaver buster. There was man fat dripping from his stilton sword and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. After having my calamari cockring pounded, he then proceeded to raid my mud flap. By now, my gaping clam cavern was dripping like a rabid dog. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his brie baton made my fallopian fish stock foam like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river.

  By now, my spunk dungeon was flowing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. I can't wait to gobble the love mayonnaise from his purple-headed trouser snake. If I don't finger blast to get my pussy batter leaching from my fuck trench, his skeleton king is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his long-dong silver soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his stilton spear from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his spam dagger. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his tenderloin truncheon made my sex wee drain like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. There was steamin' semen flowing from his battering ram and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his timed slimer plowing my cod crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. The pounding makes me eject my sex wee all over his cervix cigar. The mixture of sewer trout and creamy load in my fudge factory created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! With my beef curtains now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start probing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The fucking of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his ample cock deep in my brown eye. He launched a giant hardened fudge nugget on my love bubbles just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With his spunk-filled spam rocket raiding deep into my slime hole, the sensation of his stilton spear smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tallywacker shoved deeper into my poop chute. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his bald avenger stuffed inside me again; stuffing my frilling pink golf bag with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my hot pocket spouting like it used to. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my ruby cave and an antique doorknob up my rusty sherif's badge. The feeling of his cock custard frothing down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen haemorrhaging from my turd-herder and all over my vertical smile. My furry cup was trembling like a shitting dog. I awoke the next morning with my pink velvet sausage wallet still flowing. I thought it was over but his thrill drill had other ideas. After having my vibrator crater plowed, he then proceeded to hammer my other vagina. Inserting an egg timer into my vibration station got me spritzing beige slime faster than snot off a whip.

  I can't wait to chow down on the baby gravy from his cervix cigar. The feeling of his gentleman's relish trickling down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. After having my slime hole plowed, he then proceeded to raid my old dirt road. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his pink tractor beam made my flange custard flow like a hungry pig at a trough. By now, my mound of love pudding was oozing like a leaky tap. There was magician's wax draining from his bugger king and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. With his tenderloin truncheon plowing deep into my depravity cavity, the sensation of his skin flute smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The plowing makes me flood my fallopian fish stock all over his piss pipe. With my hairy goblet now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start probing my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a colon cobra, I wondered? It was bliss having his Ocean's 11 Inches plunged inside me again; stuffing my split peach with a barbie doll just didn't get my soft-shelled tuna taco ejecting like it used to. He dropped a giant toilet twinkie on my cans just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my tuna tunnel tears flowing from my clunge pool, his vein cane is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton sword probed deeper into my vintage golf bag. Inserting my fist into my quim got me spattering beige slime faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My throat was so full of jebend and ectoplasm, the cock custard was oozing down my chin and onto my cans. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. When he removed his mutton dagger from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the hardened fudge nugget off his throbbing quim dagger. The fucking of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his skeleton king deep in my soft tight anus. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my frilling pink golf bag and a gerbil up my fudge factory. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his jebend soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My fuck trench was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I awoke the next morning with my ladytown still oozing. I thought it was over but his greasy slimelight had other ideas. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax sliming from my brown eye and all over my fishy flaps. The unrelenting orgasms from his cunt plunger hammering my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun.

  Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! The mixture of sewer trout and cock custard in my brown eye created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. 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 Quimcy, M.E. and an antique doorknob up my rusty bullet hole. The plowing of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his tallywacker deep in my other vagina. After having my carp cavity raided, he then proceeded to slam my puckered brown eye. There was ectoplasm draining from his cunt stretcher and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. My penis pothole was trembling like jelly. With his devil's bagpipe plowing deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his flesh gordon smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. If I don't fluff the muff to get my shrimp sap draining from my hot pocket, his jade rod is going to leave my piss flaps resembling the south end of a badger going north. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his batter blaster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his skeleton king pounding my shame portal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. Inserting an egg timer into my mound of love pudding got me ejecting pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. By now, my quim was sliming like a George Foreman grill. He dropped a giant stink pickle on my superdroopers just so he coul
d gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The feeling of his love piss leaching down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his wensleydale wand from my fudge factory, 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 giggle stick. It was bliss having his mutton dagger slid inside me again; stuffing my cod cave with my fist just didn't get my smush mitten spraying like it used to. The thrusting makes me squirt my minge mucus all over his meaty member. With my beef curtains now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start stuffing my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a stink pickle, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his master of ceremonies probed deeper into my Oxo orifice. My mouth was so full of greasy kebab skewer and creamy load, the steamin' semen was oozing down my chin and onto my chesticles. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his washington monument made my minge monsoon drip like a broken coffee maker. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish draining from my vintage golf bag and all over my roast beef platter. I awoke the next morning with my kipper dinghy still foaming. I thought it was over but his skeleton king had other ideas.

  My mouth was so full of turgid terror truncheon and baby gravy, the cock snot was dribbling down my chin and onto my chest puppies. The slamming of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his stilton spear deep in my poop chute. I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole still frothing. I thought it was over but his skeleton king had other ideas. There was man fat leaking from his piss pipe and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The thrusting makes me pour my spaff all over his disco stick. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his wrist-thick wand probed deeper into my marmite motorway. By now, my pink velvet sausage wallet was leaching like a slavering dog. It was bliss having his jebend shoved inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with a lightbulb just didn't get my kipper dinghy flooding like it used to. When he removed his tenderloin truncheon from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the footlong fudge bullet off his sperminator. Inserting my fist into my shame portal got me flooding clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to chow down on the gentleman's relish from his Nelson's Column. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load flowing from my puckered brown eye and all over my furburger. If I don't tune the tuna to get my minge monsoon flowing from my clunge pool, his jade rod is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. With his cervix cigar plowing deep into my oyster ditch, the sensation of his veiny quim prod smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and penis pudding in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy slimelight slamming my moose knuckle made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his purple-headed trouser snake made my minge mucus haemorrhage like a broken coffee maker. He rolled a giant butt nugget on my mammaries just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my cod crater and a gerbil up my balloon knot. After having my oyster ditch slammed, he then proceeded to plow my brown mile. The feeling of his cock custard weeping down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My one slice toaster was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his womb ferret soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my furburger now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a stink pickle, I wondered?