The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  The pounding makes me squirt my vertical moisture all over his one-eyed milkman. He arced a giant colon cobra on my breasticles just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. The plowing of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his purple beaver buster deep in my brown mile. There was penis pudding dripping from his spam javelin and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. By now, my fuck trench was slobbering like a broken fridge freezer. The mixture of colon cobra and love piss in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious sphincter sauce 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 an egg timer in my hot pocket and a 9-iron up my vintage golf bag. After having my tuna canal plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my Oxo orifice. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his womb ferret soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his battering ram pounding my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot dribbling from my Oxo orifice and all over my flappy meal. I can't wait to lap the steamin' semen from his stilton spear. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his ramrod made my sex wee haemorrhage like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my beige slime slobbering from my clearing in the woods, his chorizo howitzer is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling an over inflated dinghy. It was bliss having his gristle missile rammed inside me again; stuffing my stench trench with a barbie doll just didn't get my tuna canal ejecting like it used to. My wizards sleeve was trembling like a rat on acid. The feeling of his magician's wax weeping down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Inserting a 9-iron into my fuck trench got me spouting sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My throat was so full of greasy slimelight and ectoplasm, the gentleman's relish was foaming down my chin and onto my superdroopers. With his balony pony pounding deep into my chlamydia canal, the sensation of his bald-headed yogurt slinger smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cervix cigar rammed deeper into my Oxo orifice. When he removed his disco stick 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 butt nugget off his spam javelin. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a badly wrapped kebab, and I was no different! With my purple cabbage now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start ramming my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a butt nugget, I wondered? He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week.

  When he removed his piss pipe from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the hardened fudge nugget off his greasy slimelight. There was steamin' semen haemorrhaging from his ample cock and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! My sperm socket was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. If I don't finger blast to get my minge monsoon draining from my split peach, his bald avenger is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling an over inflated dinghy. The feeling of his gentleman's relish foaming down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My mouth was so full of master of ceremonies and love mayonnaise, the love mayonnaise was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my chesticles. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his turgid terror truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus made my flange custard drip like a rabid dog. By now, my cod canyon was slobbering like a slug in a salt mine. I awoke the next morning with my meat purse still sliming. I thought it was over but his skin flute had other ideas. It was bliss having his greasy slimelight rammed inside me again; stuffing my vibration station with an egg timer just didn't get my cum dumpster splurging like it used to. With his wrist-thick wand raiding deep into my clunge pool, the sensation of his thrill drill smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The plowing of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his piss pipe deep in my fart valve. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his muffbuster probed deeper into my poo pipe. The unrelenting orgasms from his wensleydale wand fucking my clunge pool made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. After having my cock holster thrusted, he then proceeded to fuck my poo pipe. The raiding makes me spray my vertical moisture all over his cream reaper. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my calamari cockring got me flooding clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He pitched a giant toilet twinkie on my tatas just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my stench trench and an antique doorknob up my turd-herder. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and Da Vinci load in my turd-herder created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With my vertical smile now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start sliding my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard dripping from my turd cutter and all over my clap flaps.

  My throat was so full of brie baton and cock snot, the ectoplasm was seeping down my chin and onto my breasticles. The plowing of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my puckered brown eye. Inserting a lightbulb into my bearded haddock pasty got me surging shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. The fucking makes me gush my minge monsoon all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. With my velcro triangle now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start plunging my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax weeping from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my piss flaps. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his spunk-filled spam rocket soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My frilling pink golf bag was trembling like a shitting dog. By now, my tampon tunnel was dripping like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. I can't wait to lap the love piss from his disco stick. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his one-eyed milkman made my minge mucus leak like a hungry pig at a trough. When he removed his ramrod from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the Mr. Hanky off his stilton spear. The unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver raiding my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. I awoke the next morning with my spunk dungeon still seeping. I thought it was over but his stilton sword had other ideas. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. If I don't tune the tuna to get my beige slime leaking from my quim, his battering ram is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a stuntman's knee. With his vein cane raiding deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his master of ceremonies smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ramrod stuffed deeper into my turd cutter. After having my cock holster plowed, he then proceeded to pound my ring
piece. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my clam-flavoured pothole and an antique doorknob up my tradesman's entrance. The feeling of his cock custard leaching down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. It was bliss having his balony pony slid inside me again; stuffing my smush mitten with an antique doorknob just didn't get my wunder down under spritzing like it used to. There was creamy load seeping from his pink tractor beam and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. He blasted a giant footlong fudge bullet on my love bubbles just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different!

  There was ectoplasm trickling from his brie baton and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. With his jebend raiding deep into my cod cave, the sensation of his master of ceremonies smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. The slamming of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his bald avenger deep in my brown mile. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jebend slid deeper into my shit winker. The mixture of stink pickle and Da Vinci load in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! I can't wait to gobble the cock snot from his thrill drill. The unrelenting orgasms from his cumtree thrusting my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. By now, my shame portal was slobbering like a leaky tap. It was bliss having his batter blaster probed inside me again; stuffing my wunder down under with a lightbulb just didn't get my hot pocket squirting like it used to. With my piss flaps now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start ramming my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my chamber of squelch still foaming. I thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas. He curled a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my boobage just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my sex wee flowing from my clunge pool, his Ocean's 11 Inches is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a horse's collar. When he removed his spam javelin from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the Mr. Hanky off his cream reaper. My cake hole was so full of eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and man fat, the baby gravy was frothing down my chin and onto my love bubbles. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his thrill drill soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his Nelson's Column made my minge mucus leach like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. After having my bearded haddock pasty thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my turd cutter. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot flowing from my marmite motorway and all over my panty hamster. My enchilada of love was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The feeling of his steamin' semen leaching down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The slamming makes me flood my beige slime all over his batter blaster. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my front bum and an antique doorknob up my Oxo orifice.

  My mouth was so full of womb ferret and gentleman's relish, the penis pudding was draining down my chin and onto my twin peaks. The unrelenting orgasms from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus raiding my kipper dinghy made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his battering ram slid deeper into my mud flap. There was magician's wax leaking from his gristle missile and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his wensleydale wand stuffed inside me again; stuffing my bearded haddock pasty with a squash just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag spattering like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen oozing from my other vagina and all over my hairy goblet. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his thrill drill soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my pink velvet sausage wallet still weeping. I thought it was over but his one-eyed milkman had other ideas. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start stuffing my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. Inserting my fist into my tuna canal got me splurging pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. 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 15" spiked vibrator in my salmon slit and a 9-iron up my rusty sherif's badge. When he removed his cheese-crusted cock from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his sperminator. I can't wait to lap the gentleman's relish from his jade rod. By now, my cod canyon was leaking like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The pounding of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his balony pony deep in my turd cutter. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his timed slimer made my shrimp sap trickle like a rabid dog. The mixture of colon cobra and love piss in my vintage golf bag created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The feeling of his Da Vinci load draining down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The raiding makes me flood my minge monsoon all over his battering ram. He extruded a giant footlong fudge bullet on my chesticles just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My hatchet wound was trembling like jelly. If I don't study english cliterature to get my vertical moisture foaming from my herring hole, his veiny quim prod is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a manatee in yoga pants. After having my slime hole slammed, he then proceeded to raid my old dirt road.

  The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed monster thrusting my cod crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. The plowing makes me splurge my sex wee all over his bald-headed yogurt slinger. When he removed his womb ferret from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the butt nugget off his batter blaster. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! By now, my chlamydia canal was sliming like a rabid dog. After having my shame portal plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my turd cutter. I awoke the next morning with my split peach still dribbling. I thought it was over but his Ocean's 11 Inches had other ideas. 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 cock holster and a lightbulb up my shit winker. With my purple cabbage now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start probing my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his clunger made my clunge gunge ooze like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The feeling of his love mayonnaise leaching down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. My mouth was so full of gristle missile and gentleman's rel
ish, the steamin' semen was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my tatas. The raiding of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his tallywacker deep in my fart valve. He blasted a giant stink pickle on my love bubbles just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my furry cup got me flooding vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was penis pudding slobbering from his clunger and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and magician's wax in my marmite motorway created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his balony pony stuffed inside me again; stuffing my salmon slit with a gerbil just didn't get my gashtray spattering like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his cunt stretcher soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm frothing from my shit winker and all over my furburger. My mound of love pudding 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 cumtree probed deeper into my poop chute. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my minge monsoon leaching from my cod cave, his chorizo howitzer is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a horse's collar. With his slut slayer plowing deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his cheese-crusted cock smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly.