The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his long-dong silver soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus thrusting deep into my tuna canal, the sensation of his spam javelin smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my gaping clam cavern and an egg timer up my tradesman's entrance. If I don't strum the banjo to get my minge monsoon slobbering from my gaping clam cavern, his one-eyed monster is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling Brian May's plughole. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his wrist-thick wand made my tuna tunnel tears flow like a broken fridge freezer. The pounding makes me surge my vertical moisture all over his skin flute. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his wensleydale wand probed deeper into my brown eye. It was bliss having his love muscle plunged inside me again; stuffing my stench trench with a lightbulb just didn't get my front bum ejecting like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss leaking from my black hole and all over my spam castanets. The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod fucking my gammon alley made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. My cake hole was so full of jade rod and love piss, the gentleman's relish was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my cans. My vibrator crater was trembling like jelly. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start shoving my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a stink pickle, I wondered? After having my shamevelope slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my turd cutter. The raiding of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his womb raider deep in my tradesman's entrance. I awoke the next morning with my vaginal bacon buffet still leaching. I thought it was over but his blind butler had other ideas. I can't wait to devour the love mayonnaise from his disco stick. There was love mayonnaise weeping from his long-dong silver and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The feeling of his love mayonnaise foaming down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. When he removed his gristle missile from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the Mr. Hanky off his cream reaper. The mixture of butt nugget and Da Vinci load in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He crowned a giant Mr. Hanky on my love bubbles just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Inserting a number of chillies into my fuck trench got me gushing flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel.

  The pounding of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his sperminator deep in my chocolate starfish. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam javelin plunged deeper into my shit winker. He launched a giant butt nugget on my mosquito bites just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I awoke the next morning with my shame portal still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his skin flute had other ideas. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and gentleman's relish in my soft tight anus created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. I can't wait to suck the love mayonnaise from his jebend. After having my herring hole pounded, he then proceeded to raid my poop chute. Inserting a gerbil into my clunge pool got me surging tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The feeling of his cock snot slobbering down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. With my fishy flaps now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start probing my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a toilet twinkie, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat dribbling from my fudge factory and all over my vertical garden. My mouth was so full of timed slimer and cock custard, the steamin' semen was flowing down my chin and onto my chest puppies. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his womb ferret made my tuna tunnel tears flow like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. It was bliss having his skin flute plunged inside me again; stuffing my south mouth with an egg timer just didn't get my tampon tunnel pouring like it used to. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his master of ceremonies soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My cum dumpster was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. With his jade rod plowing deep into my cock holster, the sensation of his stilton spear smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The raiding makes me splurge my vertical moisture all over his one-eyed monster. There was Da Vinci load slobbering from his brie baton and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy kebab skewer plowing my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my mound of love pudding and a barbie doll up my soft tight anus. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my minge monsoon draining from my meat purse, his thrill drill is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a motorway pileup. When he removed his one-eyed milkman from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the stink pickle off his chubstep.

  I awoke the next morning with my depravity cavity still weeping. I thought it was over but his flesh gordon had other ideas. The raiding of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his all-beef thermometer deep in my turd cutter. I can't wait to lap the steamin' semen from his spam dagger. The mixture of toilet twinkie and baby gravy in my poop chute created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. If I don't flick the bean to get my clunge gunge haemorrhaging from my clam-flavoured pothole, his skin flute is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a stamped bat. My cake hole was so full of Nelson's Column and penis pudding, the penis pudding was leaching down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. The thrusting makes me surge my vertical moisture all over his cumtree. Inserting a 9-iron into my one slice toaster got me flowing pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat leaching from my chocolate starfish and all over my piss flaps. With his sperminator pounding deep into my enchilada of love, the sensation of his muffbuster smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. After having my smush mitten thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my rusty sherif's badge. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his Ocean's 11 Inches made my fallopian fish stock haemorrhage like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The feeling of his creamy load seeping down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. There was cock custard sliming from his greasy kebab skewer and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. When he removed his long-dong silver from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his bald avenger. My stench trench was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. With my velcro triangle now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start sliding my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a stink pickle, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least o
f my worries as his bald-headed yogurt slinger stuffed deeper into my vintage golf bag. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his cunt stretcher soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his pink tractor beam fucking my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. He arced a giant stink pickle on my superdroopers just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my cod canyon and my fist up my old dirt road. It was bliss having his cunt plunger plunged inside me again; stuffing my cum dumpster with an egg timer just didn't get my mound of love pudding spritzing like it used to.

  The fucking of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his ramrod deep in my black hole. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my gaping clam cavern and a barbie doll up my turd-herder. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss draining from my other vagina and all over my hairy goblet. My cake hole was so full of disco stick and cock snot, the love piss was oozing down my chin and onto my chest puppies. Inserting an egg timer into my shamevelope got me squirting shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. My birth cannon was trembling like a rat on acid. With his greasy slimelight fucking deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. I can't wait to chow down on the gentleman's relish from his muffbuster. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his cumtree soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his wrist-thick wand rammed inside me again; stuffing my meat purse with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my calamari cockring flooding like it used to. By now, my fuck gutter was slobbering like a broken coffee maker. The mixture of stink pickle and cock snot in my turd-herder created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The feeling of his ectoplasm haemorrhaging down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than snot off a whip. There was man fat haemorrhaging from his chorizo howitzer and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. After having my vibrator crater thrusted, he then proceeded to hammer my Oxo orifice. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his bugger king made my vertical moisture weep like a George Foreman grill. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. If I don't strum the banjo to get my sex wee slobbering from my wunder down under, his master of ceremonies is going to leave my flappy meal resembling Pete Burns' lips. The plowing makes me squirt my vertical moisture all over his womb ferret. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ample cock plunged deeper into my cocoa channel. He pitched a giant sewer trout on my top bollocks just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I awoke the next morning with my mound of love pudding still flowing. I thought it was over but his Nelson's Column had other ideas. With my fishy flaps now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start shoving my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a sewer trout, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his cervix cigar thrusting my whispering eye made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory.

  By now, my hot pocket was dripping like a broken coffee maker. When he removed his master of ceremonies from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his spam javelin. My depravity cavity was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. After having my salmon slit slammed, he then proceeded to raid my turd cutter. The unrelenting orgasms from his wensleydale wand pounding my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. My cake hole was so full of meaty member and love piss, the love mayonnaise was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his blind butler soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his cheese-crusted cock plowing deep into my smush mitten, the sensation of his devil's bagpipe smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. I awoke the next morning with my south mouth still flowing. I thought it was over but his meaty member had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his master of ceremonies shoved deeper into my balloon knot. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! The mixture of toilet twinkie and cock snot in my Oxo orifice created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm sliming from my tradesman's entrance and all over my hairy goblet. With my vertical smile now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start plunging my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his clunger made my minge mucus drain like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The thrusting makes me eject my fallopian fish stock all over his womb ferret. The plowing of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his disco stick deep in my old dirt road. It was bliss having his blue-veined custard chucker stuffed inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my shamevelope spraying like it used to. There was cock custard frothing from his bald avenger and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. If I don't finger blast to get my pussy batter leaching from my furry cup, his bald-headed yogurt slinger is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a stamped bat. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. He dropped a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my boobage just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I can't wait to chow down on the creamy load from his battering ram. The feeling of his penis pudding oozing down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my Quimcy, M.E. and a lightbulb up my chocolate starfish.

  I can't wait to lap the penis pudding from his one-eyed milkman. The feeling of his Da Vinci load foaming down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my slime hole plowed, he then proceeded to hammer my turd cutter. With my panty hamster now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start plunging my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a stink pickle, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper slamming my municipal cockwash made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The plowing of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his disco stick deep in my tradesman's entrance. I awoke the next morning with my soft-shelled tuna taco still trickling. I thought it was over but his jebend had other ideas. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my fallopian fish stock foam like a rabid dog. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam dagger shoved deeper into my cocoa channel. When he removed his thrill drill from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the butt nugget off his thrill drill. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load leaking from my poo pipe and all over my beef curtains. He curled a giant Mr. Hanky on my sweater puppies just so he could lap it up l
ike a bulldog eating porridge. The mixture of butt nugget and love mayonnaise in my fudge factory created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my vaginal bacon buffet and a gerbil up my chocolate starfish. It was bliss having his ample cock stuffed inside me again; stuffing my mound of love pudding with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my one slice toaster spritzing like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his slut slayer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a squash into my pink velvet sausage wallet got me spouting flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! If I don't buff the muff to get my fallopian fish stock dribbling from my wizards sleeve, his spam javelin is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a clown's pocket. There was gentleman's relish sliming from his ample cock and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. With his kebeb skewer slamming deep into my cod cave, the sensation of his tenderloin truncheon smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. My mouth was so full of turgid terror truncheon and love mayonnaise, the baby gravy was dribbling down my chin and onto my droopies. The thrusting makes me splurge my sex wee all over his spam dagger. My tampon tunnel was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.