The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  With my beef curtains now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start ramming my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? It was bliss having his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon stuffed inside me again; stuffing my pink velvet sausage wallet with a lightbulb just didn't get my meat purse spraying like it used to. The fucking of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his disco stick deep in my rusty bullet hole. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot seeping from my balloon knot and all over my vertical garden. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! The hammering makes me surge my minge monsoon all over his cheese-crusted cock. The unrelenting orgasms from his giggle stick raiding my frilling pink golf bag made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. There was penis pudding foaming from his timed slimer and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. By now, my quim was flowing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. After having my furry cup slammed, he then proceeded to pound my fart valve. He cut a giant toilet twinkie on my tatas just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love muscle plunged deeper into my cocoa channel. I awoke the next morning with my frilling pink golf bag still sliming. I thought it was over but his Nelson's Column had other ideas. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my cod crater and a squash up my marmite motorway. The feeling of his magician's wax dribbling down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his cunt stretcher from my ring piece, 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 footlong fudge bullet off his thrill drill. I can't wait to lap the baby gravy from his batter blaster. My cake hole was so full of huge penis and Da Vinci load, the cock custard was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my breasticles. With his long-dong silver slamming deep into my cod cave, the sensation of his skin flute smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. If I don't tune the tuna to get my shrimp sap foaming from my ruby cave, his battering ram is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a rabid baboon's arse. The mixture of colon cobra and ectoplasm in my marmite motorway created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Inserting a number of chillies into my fuck trench got me flooding spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My birth cannon was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his devil's bagpipe soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.

  I awoke the next morning with my cock holster still sliming. I thought it was over but his thrill drill had other ideas. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. My hot pocket was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his master of ceremonies soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The slamming of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his tenderloin truncheon deep in my brown mile. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my tuna canal and a number of chillies up my Mavis Fritter. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his turgid terror truncheon probed deeper into my brown eye. He blasted a giant footlong fudge bullet on my droopies just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my tuna tunnel tears frothing from my vibration station, his one-eyed milkman is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a twisted slipper. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my fallopian fish stock froth like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load oozing from my Mavis Fritter and all over my lunchmeat. My mouth was so full of skeleton king and love piss, the ectoplasm was dribbling down my chin and onto my superdroopers. With his gristle missile slamming deep into my penis pothole, the sensation of his ample cock smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. After having my depravity cavity thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my fart valve. When he removed his vein cane from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his bugger king. The slamming makes me flood my tuna tunnel tears all over his mutton dagger. I can't wait to consume the creamy load from his slut slayer. It was bliss having his blue-veined custard chucker shoved inside me again; stuffing my furry cup with a barbie doll just didn't get my south mouth surging like it used to. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock snot in my balloon knot created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. By now, my one slice toaster was dripping like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Inserting a number of chillies into my cod canyon got me spattering beige slime faster than snot off a whip. There was penis pudding draining from his cheese-crusted cock and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his flesh gordon fucking my shame portal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different!

  The feeling of his man fat leaking down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My throat was so full of womb raider and man fat, the Da Vinci load was draining down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my beige slime weeping from my clearing in the woods, his wrist-thick wand is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a stuntman's knee. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his long-dong silver made my clunge gunge foam like a slavering dog. There was cock snot weeping from his long-dong silver and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. My slime hole was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my ladytown and a gerbil up my chocolate starfish. He blasted a giant colon cobra 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 sperminator shoved deeper into my cocoa channel. When he removed his ample cock from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his batter blaster. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald-headed yogurt slinger pounding my herring hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. After having my gammon alley slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my other vagina. I awoke the next morning with my Quimcy, M.E. still draining. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand had other ideas. I can't wait to suck the cock custard from his battering ram. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish leaching from my soft tight anus and all over my meaty hangers. It was bliss having his throbbing quim dagger probed inside me again; stuffing my cod crater with an egg timer just didn't get my municipal cockwash spattering like it used to. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and penis pudding in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fon
d of. With my vertical smile now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Inserting a number of chillies into my smush mitten got me splurging fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. The slamming makes me pour my pussy batter all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. With his jebend fucking deep into my chamber of squelch, the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his cumtree soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The raiding of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his cream reaper deep in my turd cutter.

  It was bliss having his long-dong silver plunged inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia canal with my fist just didn't get my wizards sleeve surging like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my shame portal still leaking. I thought it was over but his one-eyed milkman 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 puckered brown eye. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my enchilada of love and my fist up my poo pipe. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! The feeling of his baby gravy leaking down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. When he removed his cream reaper from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his devil's bagpipe. The unrelenting orgasms from his devil's bagpipe fucking my carp cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his huge penis soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My stench trench was trembling like a shitting dog. With his spam dagger thrusting deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his wrist-thick wand smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. There was penis pudding foaming from his spam javelin and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. If I don't study english cliterature to get my flange custard leaching from my cod crater, his Ocean's 11 Inches is going to leave my clap flaps resembling badly battered road kill. With my spam castanets now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start stuffing my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? By now, my gaping clam cavern was frothing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The mixture of colon cobra and creamy load in my shit winker created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I can't wait to gobble the love mayonnaise from his gristle missile. My mouth was so full of all-beef thermometer and love piss, the ectoplasm was dribbling down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. The raiding makes me spout my pussy batter all over his Ocean's 11 Inches. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen flowing from my puckered brown eye and all over my piss flaps. Inserting an antique doorknob into my municipal cockwash got me pouring minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my sex wee weep like a broken coffee maker. After having my smush mitten pounded, he then proceeded to pound my cocoa channel. The raiding of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his giggle stick deep in my mud flap.

  He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The mixture of sewer trout and magician's wax in my mud flap created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. When he removed his love lollipop from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the toilet twinkie off his skeleton king. With my roast beef platter now much like a sand blasted tomato, 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 hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Inserting a lightbulb into my chlamydia canal got me ejecting sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was cock snot dripping from his timed slimer and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The pounding of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his womb raider deep in my turd cutter. I can't wait to consume the ectoplasm from his thrill drill. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus made my pussy batter haemorrhage like a slug in a salt mine. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen seeping from my marmite motorway and all over my clap flaps. If I don't fluff the muff to get my tuna tunnel tears leaching from my ladytown, his ramrod is going to leave my spam castanets resembling a badly wrapped kebab. I awoke the next morning with my bearded haddock pasty still weeping. I thought it was over but his spunk-filled spam rocket had other ideas. He extruded a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my boobage just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. After having my herring hole thrusted, he then proceeded to hammer my tradesman's entrance. The raiding makes me spit my minge mucus all over his sperminator. The feeling of his penis pudding sliming down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My throat was so full of spunk-filled spam rocket and ectoplasm, the magician's wax was draining down my chin and onto my mammaries. It was bliss having his pink tractor beam shoved inside me again; stuffing my moose knuckle with a barbie doll just didn't get my salmon slit spritzing like it used to. My ruby cave was trembling like a shitting dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his stilton spear soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his thrill drill thrusting my hatchet wound made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! By now, my herring hole was haemorrhaging like a George Foreman grill. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my meat purse and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my shit winker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his muffbuster shoved deeper into my black hole.

  With my hairy goblet now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start shoving my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his sperminator shoved deeper into my puckered brown eye. When he removed his love muscle 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 chow down on the stink pickle off his throbbing quim dagger. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and steamin' semen in my other vagina created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. There was Da Vinci load leaching from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The plowing of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his chorizo howitzer deep in my cocoa channel. The pounding makes me surge my sex wee all over his cunt plunger. The unrelenting orgasms from his wrist-thick wand slamming my chamber of squelch made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. After having my meat purse raided, he then proceeded to raid my brown mile. My vaginal bacon buffet was trembling like a shitting dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his jebend soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to gobble the ectoplasm from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat oozing from my poop chute and all over my velcro triangle. With his greasy kebab skewer plowing deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his blood-engorged mayonnaise
cannon smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my hatchet wound and a lightbulb up my marmite motorway. By now, my wunder down under was seeping like a broken fridge freezer. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his huge penis made my shrimp sap haemorrhage like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! If I don't play the clitar to get my fallopian fish stock seeping from my shamevelope, his giggle stick is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a manatee in yoga pants. He crowned a giant sewer trout on my tatas just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The feeling of his magician's wax leaking down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my sperm socket still dripping. I thought it was over but his stilton sword had other ideas. My throat was so full of wrist-thick wand and baby gravy, the ectoplasm was sliming down my chin and onto my droopies. Inserting a gerbil into my penis pothole got me flowing clunge gunge faster than snot off a whip. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week.