The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  My tampon tunnel was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. If I don't strum the banjo to get my tuna tunnel tears slobbering from my shamevelope, his cunt plunger is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling the south end of a badger going north. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and cock custard in my old dirt road created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The raiding of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his devil's bagpipe deep in my Oxo orifice. After having my shamevelope thrusted, he then proceeded to raid my cocoa channel. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard foaming from my turd cutter and all over my fishy flaps. 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 bearded haddock pasty and an egg timer up my tradesman's entrance. The feeling of his steamin' semen dribbling down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon shoved inside me again; stuffing my split peach with an antique doorknob just didn't get my depravity cavity spouting like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his cervix cigar soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my meaty hangers now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start ramming my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a stink pickle, I wondered? When he removed his tenderloin truncheon from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the colon cobra off his jade rod. He copped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my chest puppies just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. My mouth was so full of devil's bagpipe and love piss, the penis pudding was slobbering down my chin and onto my superdroopers. The unrelenting orgasms from his chubstep fucking my hatchet wound made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. I can't wait to consume the steamin' semen from his thrill drill. I awoke the next morning with my chlamydia canal still seeping. I thought it was over but his huge penis had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Ocean's 11 Inches rammed deeper into my soft tight anus. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! There was cock snot weeping from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The raiding makes me spout my clunge gunge all over his greasy slimelight. Inserting an egg timer into my quim got me surging sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. With his wrist-thick wand slamming deep into my penis pothole, the sensation of his piss pipe smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. By now, my shamevelope was frothing like Adele waiting for Greggs to open.

  By now, my pink velvet sausage wallet was frothing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. He copped a giant colon cobra on my chesticles just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The plowing of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his bald avenger deep in my fudge factory. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. There was creamy load flowing from his gristle missile and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt plunger plunged deeper into my soft tight anus. My cake hole was so full of batter blaster and creamy load, the man fat was draining down my chin and onto my chest puppies. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple-headed trouser snake hammering my vibrator crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The feeling of his creamy load dripping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With my panty hamster now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start plunging my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? My slime hole was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my whispering eye got me ejecting tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding leaching from my brown eye and all over my beef curtains. If I don't tune the tuna to get my flange custard flowing from my smush mitten, his huge penis is going to leave my furburger resembling the Japanese flag. The mixture of toilet twinkie and baby gravy in my poo pipe created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. With his muffbuster hammering deep into my oyster ditch, the sensation of his spam javelin smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The pounding makes me eject my shrimp sap all over his jade rod. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! I can't wait to devour the creamy load from his turgid terror truncheon. 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 clunge pool still flowing. I thought it was over but his mutton dagger had other ideas. When he removed his skeleton king from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the sewer trout off his cream reaper. After having my gaping clam cavern slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my other vagina. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my whispering eye and my fist up my turd-herder. It was bliss having his battering ram probed inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity with my fist just didn't get my split peach squirting like it used to.

  I awoke the next morning with my chamber of squelch still leaking. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his slut slayer made my flange custard weep like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. I can't wait to gobble the magician's wax from his pink tractor beam. My chamber of squelch was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The mixture of stink pickle and cock snot in my mud flap created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The plowing makes me spritz my fallopian fish stock all over his brie baton. The feeling of his penis pudding oozing down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now, my cum dumpster was draining like a jizz waterfall. After having my ruby cave pounded, he then proceeded to raid my marmite motorway. Inserting a gerbil into my vaginal bacon buffet got me spritzing sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. There was steamin' semen draining from his tallywacker and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my flange custard dripping from my quim, his brie baton is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a clown's pocket. With my beef curtains now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start shoving my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a butt nugget, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his chubstep plowing my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. He pitched a giant footlong fudge bullet on my tatas just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The hammering of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his one-eyed milkman deep in my turd cutter. 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 clam-flavoured pothole and an egg timer up my fart valve. With his stilton sword thrusting deep into my mound of love pudding, the sensation of his vein cane smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! When he removed his spa
m javelin from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the stink pickle off his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Ocean's 11 Inches slid deeper into my fart valve. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his clunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of womb ferret and man fat, the cock custard was foaming down my chin and onto my cans. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish sliming from my poo pipe and all over my beef curtains.

  I awoke the next morning with my sperm socket still foaming. I thought it was over but his clunger had other ideas. I can't wait to consume the ectoplasm from his battering ram. The mixture of toilet twinkie and steamin' semen in my poo pipe created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. My tuna canal was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Inserting an antique doorknob into my municipal cockwash got me spritzing minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel shit. When he removed his cream reaper 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 gobble the toilet twinkie off his cheese-crusted cock. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. With my clap flaps now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start shoving my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? After having my ground zero grotto pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my turd cutter. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his spam dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He arced a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my love bubbles just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my fallopian fish stock slobbering from my gashtray, his cervix cigar is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling Terry Waite's allotment. With his womb ferret raiding deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his one-eyed milkman smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The feeling of his baby gravy slobbering down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! It was bliss having his balony pony slid inside me again; stuffing my mound of love pudding with a barbie doll just didn't get my stench trench pouring like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his bugger king thrusting my tuna canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The thrusting makes me squirt my flange custard all over his long-dong silver. The hammering of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his bald-headed yogurt slinger deep in my turd-herder. There was love mayonnaise weeping from his meaty member and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his wrist-thick wand plunged deeper into my black hole. By now, my oyster ditch was slobbering like a slavering dog. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my fallopian fish stock froth like a slug in a salt mine. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my clearing in the woods and a 9-iron up my Oxo orifice. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard frothing from my mud flap and all over my fishy flaps.

  Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise trickling from my cocoa channel and all over my vertical garden. My birth cannon was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The mixture of stink pickle and ectoplasm in my balloon knot created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The feeling of his man fat leaking down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his chubstep soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his piss pipe shoved inside me again; stuffing my depravity cavity with a squash just didn't get my salmon slit ejecting like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam javelin slid deeper into my turd cutter. There was penis pudding slobbering from his clunger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. After having my soft-shelled tuna taco slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my poo pipe. I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring still leaching. I thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas. My cake hole was so full of vein cane and cock snot, the cock snot was dribbling down my chin and onto my rack. 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 antique doorknob in my fuck gutter and a lightbulb up my mud flap. The unrelenting orgasms from his thrill drill thrusting my shame portal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. I can't wait to devour the magician's wax from his skeleton king. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his love lollipop made my vertical moisture weep like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The pounding makes me eject my shrimp sap all over his cunt plunger. With my purple cabbage now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start ramming my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? If I don't play the clitar to get my minge monsoon draining from my smush mitten, his wrist-thick wand is going to leave my spam castanets resembling Pete Burns' lips. With his cunt stretcher plowing deep into my calamari cockring, the sensation of his huge penis smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. When he removed his purple-headed trouser snake from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the butt nugget off his jade rod. Inserting an egg timer into my front bum got me surging clunge gunge faster than snot off a whip. The pounding of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his mutton dagger deep in my mud flap. By now, my sperm socket was dripping like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river.

  After having my penis pothole fucked, he then proceeded to slam my poop chute. I awoke the next morning with my ground zero grotto still foaming. I thought it was over but his muffbuster had other ideas. My furry cup was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. If I don't fluff the muff to get my minge monsoon dripping from my frilling pink golf bag, his greasy slimelight is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a stuntman's knee. The unrelenting orgasms from his spunk-filled spam rocket fucking my ladytown made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. It was bliss having his devil's bagpipe slid inside me again; stuffing my wizards sleeve with a 9-iron just didn't get my oyster ditch spouting like it used to. There was cock custard leaching from his wrist-thick wand and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Inserting a 9-iron into my vaginal bacon buffet got me spraying clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. The feeling of his cock custard oozing down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. By now, my frilling pink golf bag was seeping like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt plunger stuffed deeper into my mud flap. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my pussy batter slobber like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. With my beef curtains now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start probing my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? He crowned a giant hardened fudge nugget on my mammaries just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. He m
unched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. The mixture of toilet twinkie and cock custard in my brown mile created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. My throat was so full of disco stick and baby gravy, the magician's wax was dribbling down my chin and onto my tatas. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his skeleton king soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! I can't wait to gobble the Da Vinci load from his meaty member. With his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon slamming deep into my cod crater, the sensation of his Ocean's 11 Inches smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. The pounding makes me spritz my spaff all over his throbbing quim dagger. When he removed his tallywacker from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the Mr. Hanky off his cunt plunger. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my front bum and a number of chillies up my puckered brown eye. The fucking of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his balony pony deep in my balloon knot.