The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  If I don't study english cliterature to get my fallopian fish stock dribbling from my vaginal bacon buffet, his washington monument is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a motorway pileup. I can't wait to chow down on the magician's wax from his one-eyed monster. The thrusting makes me flow my shrimp sap all over his slut slayer. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his cumtree made my flange custard ooze like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The feeling of his magician's wax frothing down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With his bald-headed yogurt slinger thrusting deep into my carp cavity, the sensation of his balony pony smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm slobbering from my other vagina and all over my spam castanets. By now, my pink velvet sausage wallet was frothing like a slug in a salt mine. I awoke the next morning with my whispering eye still leaking. I thought it was over but his skin flute had other ideas. Inserting a barbie doll into my gashtray got me spritzing minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit. When he removed his greasy slimelight from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the hardened fudge nugget off his skeleton king. The mixture of sewer trout and penis pudding in my poop chute created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. My smush mitten was trembling like a shitting dog. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my wizards sleeve and a squash up my marmite motorway. It was bliss having his wrist-thick wand plunged inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with a barbie doll just didn't get my ladytown flooding like it used to. My cake hole was so full of sperminator and Da Vinci load, the love mayonnaise was weeping down my chin and onto my love bubbles. The raiding of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his disco stick deep in my puckered brown eye. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his ample cock soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. He eased out a giant Mr. Hanky on my fiery biscuits just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam dagger stuffed deeper into my turd-herder. With my beef curtains now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start plunging my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a toilet twinkie, I wondered? After having my ladytown thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my poo pipe. The unrelenting orgasms from his tenderloin truncheon slamming my smush mitten made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different!

  With my flappy meal now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start sliding my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? With his sperminator pounding deep into my spunk dungeon, the sensation of his thrill drill smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen flowing from my fudge factory and all over my meaty hangers. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his bald-headed yogurt slinger made my minge mucus slobber like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The fucking makes me surge my minge monsoon all over his bugger king. It was bliss having his blind butler rammed inside me again; stuffing my tuna canal with an antique doorknob just didn't get my wizards sleeve spraying like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his greasy kebab skewer plunged deeper into my balloon knot. My gaping clam cavern was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my frilling pink golf bag and a squash up my chocolate starfish. My cake hole was so full of jade rod and cock custard, the baby gravy was trickling down my chin and onto my mammaries. When he removed his meaty member from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the footlong fudge bullet off his turgid terror truncheon. There was Da Vinci load oozing from his meaty member and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Inserting a number of chillies into my Quimcy, M.E. got me splurging fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and ectoplasm in my poo pipe created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my pink velvet sausage wallet still leaching. I thought it was over but his piss pipe had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his stilton spear soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to consume the baby gravy from his womb ferret. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! He pitched a giant colon cobra on my mosquito bites just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The raiding of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his blind butler deep in my cocoa channel. The feeling of his penis pudding leaking down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. After having my fuck trench thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my chocolate starfish. The unrelenting orgasms from his batter blaster plowing my vibrator crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. By now, my front bum was draining like a hungry pig at a trough.

  Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his chubstep made my shrimp sap weep like a broken coffee maker. He pitched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my mammaries just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my south mouth got me surging minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel shit. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my vertical moisture haemorrhaging from my hatchet wound, his master of ceremonies is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a blind cobbler's thumb. I awoke the next morning with my shamevelope still oozing. I thought it was over but his greasy kebab skewer had other ideas. I can't wait to devour the Da Vinci load from his batter blaster. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! My clunge pool was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his love muscle soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The pounding makes me spit my fallopian fish stock all over his throbbing quim dagger. The feeling of his cock custard haemorrhaging down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his one-eyed milkman probed deeper into my chocolate starfish. With his flesh gordon slamming deep into my municipal cockwash, the sensation of his spam dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The mixture of butt nugget and gentleman's relish in my puckered brown eye created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. By now, my municipal cockwash was foaming like a slug in a salt mine. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my stench trench and an antique doorknob up my mud flap. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen haemorrhaging from my old dirt road and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. It was bliss having his devil's bagpipe stuffed inside me again; stuffing my herring hole with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my clearing in the woods flowing like it used to. The thrusting of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his one-eyed monster deep in my Oxo orifice. When he removed his blind butler from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to s
ee a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the footlong fudge bullet off his veiny quim prod. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. After having my gammon alley raided, he then proceeded to pound my poop chute. With my velcro triangle now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start stuffing my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword plowing my cock holster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. My throat was so full of throbbing quim dagger and baby gravy, the gentleman's relish was trickling down my chin and onto my chesticles.

  By now, my penis pothole was foaming like a broken coffee maker. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my wizards sleeve and a 9-iron up my marmite motorway. The raiding makes me flood my sex wee all over his skeleton king. My cod crater was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. He blasted a giant butt nugget on my breasticles just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his throbbing quim dagger probed deeper into my balloon knot. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his skeleton king plunged inside me again; stuffing my sperm socket with a lightbulb just didn't get my vibrator crater spritzing like it used to. After having my Quimcy, M.E. pounded, he then proceeded to plow my chocolate starfish. The mixture of toilet twinkie and gentleman's relish in my black hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a werewolf with it's throat cut, and I was no different! When he removed his cumtree from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his bugger king. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his throbbing quim dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his purple-headed trouser snake thrusting deep into my slime hole, the sensation of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. If I don't strum the banjo to get my clunge gunge sliming from my furry cup, his bald-headed yogurt slinger is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy trickling from my poop chute and all over my furburger. There was cock snot oozing from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. I can't wait to chow down on the penis pudding from his blue-veined custard chucker. The fucking of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his turgid terror truncheon deep in my fudge factory. The feeling of his love piss oozing down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my sperm socket still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand had other ideas. With my spam castanets now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start ramming my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my fuck gutter got me spouting minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My cake hole was so full of love muscle and creamy load, the creamy load was leaking down my chin and onto my boobage. The unrelenting orgasms from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus pounding my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage.

  He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start sliding my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? My split peach was trembling 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 ramrod plunged deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. By now, my oyster ditch was flowing like a broken fridge freezer. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my gaping clam cavern and a gerbil up my rusty sherif's badge. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm trickling from my brown eye and all over my fishy flaps. It was bliss having his cumtree slid inside me again; stuffing my clunge pool with an egg timer just didn't get my salmon slit surging like it used to. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and magician's wax in my old dirt road created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his ample cock made my beige slime froth like a slug in a salt mine. Inserting a gerbil into my Quimcy, M.E. got me gushing clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. The plowing of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his skeleton king deep in my Mavis Fritter. After having my shame portal raided, he then proceeded to plow my vintage golf bag. If I don't buff the muff to get my minge mucus trickling from my enchilada of love, his cream reaper is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his one-eyed monster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon plowing my tuna canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. The fucking makes me gush my sex wee all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. When he removed his skin flute from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the sewer trout off his blue-veined custard chucker. With his blue-veined custard chucker plowing deep into my whispering eye, the sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The feeling of his Da Vinci load slobbering down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my municipal cockwash still oozing. I thought it was over but his throbbing quim dagger had other ideas. I can't wait to chow down on the cock custard from his womb ferret. There was steamin' semen seeping from his piss pipe and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. He crowned a giant Mr. Hanky on my chest puppies just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different!

  I can't wait to gobble the ectoplasm from his ample cock. My cake hole was so full of long-dong silver and Da Vinci load, the steamin' semen was foaming down my chin and onto my droopies. He crowned a giant stink pickle on my chest puppies just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The feeling of his baby gravy slobbering down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With his vein cane slamming deep into my cod canyon, the sensation of his pink tractor beam 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 my fist in my clearing in the woods and a lightbulb up my marmite motorway. The pounding makes me spritz my minge monsoon all over his timed slimer. The slamming of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his batter blaster deep in my puckered brown eye. The mixture of sewer trout and love piss in my poop chute created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. With my roast beef platter now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. There was steamin' semen slobbering from his piss pipe and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his cun
t plunger made my beige slime trickle like a slug in a salt mine. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat draining from my other vagina and all over my meaty hangers. The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod hammering my gaping clam cavern made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. My bearded haddock pasty was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. After having my stench trench raided, he then proceeded to fuck my turd-herder. Inserting my fist into my gammon alley got me flowing spaff faster than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his thrill drill plunged inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with a barbie doll just didn't get my bearded haddock pasty ejecting like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still weeping. I thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jebend probed deeper into my poo pipe. When he removed his ample cock from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the hardened fudge nugget off his cunt plunger. By now, my shame portal was trickling like a rabid dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his purple beaver buster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't flick the bean to get my minge mucus weeping from my furry cup, his long-dong silver is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a stuntman's knee.