The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  With his womb ferret hammering deep into my enchilada of love, the sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. I can't wait to suck the cock snot from his balony pony. By now, my calamari cockring was haemorrhaging like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The unrelenting orgasms from his devil's bagpipe fucking my oyster ditch made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. The mixture of sewer trout and ectoplasm in my fart valve created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With my hairy goblet now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start sliding my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? There was magician's wax foaming from his bald avenger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his bugger king made my fallopian fish stock froth like a slavering dog. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! If I don't tune the tuna to get my spaff haemorrhaging from my hatchet wound, his master of ceremonies is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling the Japanese flag. The feeling of his ectoplasm leaching down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Inserting a 9-iron into my municipal cockwash got me spraying vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. He dropped a giant Mr. Hanky on my love bubbles just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My fuck gutter was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. After having my sperm socket hammered, he then proceeded to pound my old dirt road. I awoke the next morning with my stench trench still leaching. I thought it was over but his kebeb skewer had other ideas. The pounding makes me surge my flange custard all over his master of ceremonies. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my kipper dinghy and a lightbulb up my rusty sherif's badge. My throat was so full of slut slayer and cock custard, the cock custard was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my tatas. It was bliss having his brie baton rammed inside me again; stuffing my split peach with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my ground zero grotto flowing like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm haemorrhaging from my Oxo orifice and all over my lunchmeat. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. When he removed his bald avenger from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his cheese-crusted cock. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his giggle stick rammed deeper into my Oxo orifice. The raiding of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his jebend deep in my rusty bullet hole.

  If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my minge mucus dripping from my front bum, his balony pony is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling an over inflated dinghy. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blue-veined custard chucker slid deeper into my turd cutter. I can't wait to gobble the Da Vinci load from his tenderloin truncheon. There was baby gravy dribbling from his skin flute and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The plowing makes me spritz my shrimp sap all over his spam javelin. With my hairy goblet now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start sliding my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his love muscle made my vertical moisture slime like a slavering dog. The plowing of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his spam dagger deep in my Oxo orifice. The feeling of his cock snot leaking down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Inserting a number of chillies into my pink velvet sausage wallet got me pouring vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. My cake hole was so full of vein cane and love mayonnaise, the penis pudding was seeping down my chin and onto my chest puppies. My depravity cavity was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. After having my shamevelope raided, he then proceeded to hammer my turd-herder. The mixture of colon cobra and Da Vinci load in my old dirt road created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. With his jebend pounding deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his ramrod smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. I awoke the next morning with my ladytown still draining. I thought it was over but his purple beaver buster had other ideas. It was bliss having his womb raider stuffed inside me again; stuffing my salmon slit with a lightbulb just didn't get my tampon tunnel spritzing like it used to. When he removed his blind butler from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the hardened fudge nugget off his kebeb skewer. 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 barbie doll in my cum dumpster and my fist up my tradesman's entrance. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load trickling from my puckered brown eye and all over my hairy goblet. The unrelenting orgasms from his tenderloin truncheon fucking my depravity cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. He eased out a giant stink pickle on my cans just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. By now, my salmon slit was haemorrhaging like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls.

  Inserting my fist into my clearing in the woods got me spattering spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his bugger king soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my municipal cockwash was leaching like a leaky tap. He rolled a giant footlong fudge bullet on my boobage just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of butt nugget and baby gravy in my balloon knot created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his brie baton thrusting my one slice toaster made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cervix cigar rammed deeper into my turd-herder. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! After having my shame portal plowed, he then proceeded to hammer my fart valve. When he removed his disco stick from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the stink pickle off his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. With his throbbing quim dagger pounding deep into my cum dumpster, the sensation of his muffbuster smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. I awoke the next morning with my cock holster still trickling. I thought it was over but his spunk-filled spam rocket had other ideas. My chlamydia canal was trembling like a rat on acid. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard oozing from my puckered brown eye and all over my spam castanets. If I don't flick the bean to get my fallopian fish stock oozing from my sperm socket, his muffbuster is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. The plowing makes me splurge my shrimp sap all over his vein cane. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon made my minge mucus drip like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher shoved inside me again; stuffing my clam-flavoured pothole with a 9-iron just didn't get my Quimcy, M.E. spouting like it used to. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my salmon slit and a 15" spiked vibrator up my balloon knot. With my open-faced ham sandwich n
ow much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start probing my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a colon cobra, I wondered? He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. The fucking of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his clunger deep in my ring piece. The feeling of his penis pudding dribbling down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait to gobble the gentleman's relish from his cunt plunger. My cake hole was so full of cunt stretcher and gentleman's relish, the creamy load was oozing down my chin and onto my top bollocks.

  I can't wait to lap the ectoplasm from his cream reaper. My mouth was so full of mutton dagger and love mayonnaise, the cock custard was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my top bollocks. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his love lollipop soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my spam castanets now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start sliding my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a sewer trout, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his devil's bagpipe fucking my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. When he removed his womb ferret from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the corn-eyed butt snake off his mutton dagger. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy leaching from my shit winker and all over my beef curtains. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a werewolf with it's throat cut, and I was no different! The feeling of his ectoplasm slobbering down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now, my gammon alley was oozing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his kebeb skewer shoved deeper into my balloon knot. The mixture of toilet twinkie and love piss in my Oxo orifice created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. My smush mitten was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his giggle stick made my minge mucus ooze like a slavering dog. There was cock snot slobbering from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my vibrator crater still sliming. I thought it was over but his ample cock had other ideas. The slamming makes me spritz my spaff all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. It was bliss having his veiny quim prod stuffed inside me again; stuffing my cod canyon with an antique doorknob just didn't get my vibrator crater spritzing like it used to. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my beige slime oozing from my wunder down under, his jebend is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling the Japanese flag. The thrusting of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his battering ram deep in my brown eye. He rolled a giant stink pickle on my chest puppies just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my cod canyon and a squash up my other vagina. With his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon fucking deep into my cock holster, the sensation of his piss pipe smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. After having my oyster ditch fucked, he then proceeded to thrust my cocoa channel.

  With his disco stick pounding deep into my vibrator crater, the sensation of his vein cane smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. With my roast beef platter now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start shoving my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? The fucking makes me spout my minge monsoon all over his Nelson's Column. Inserting a gerbil into my kipper dinghy got me flowing fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my gashtray and an egg timer up my cocoa channel. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his kebeb skewer shoved deeper into my balloon knot. There was gentleman's relish oozing from his disco stick and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his wensleydale wand made my minge monsoon slime like a jizz waterfall. I can't wait to gobble the cock snot from his gristle missile. After having my cod canyon fucked, he then proceeded to raid my poo pipe. The unrelenting orgasms from his womb ferret pounding my pink velvet sausage wallet made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. It was bliss having his skin flute probed inside me again; stuffing my stench trench with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my furry cup pouring like it used to. The pounding of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his veiny quim prod deep in my poop chute. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and baby gravy in my poo pipe created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. My clunge pool was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. If I don't tune the tuna to get my sex wee sliming from my quim, his disco stick is going to leave my vertical smile resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. I awoke the next morning with my soft-shelled tuna taco still dribbling. I thought it was over but his meaty member had other ideas. My cake hole was so full of stilton spear and man fat, the man fat was foaming down my chin and onto my rack. He copped a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my chesticles just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. When he removed his huge penis 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 devour the butt nugget off his devil's bagpipe. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load leaching from my fart valve and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. The feeling of his man fat sliming down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his love muscle soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.

  When he removed his veiny quim prod from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his cervix cigar. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. My mouth was so full of skin flute and magician's wax, the magician's wax was slobbering down my chin and onto my chesticles. He rolled a giant sewer trout on my chesticles just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. It was bliss having his greasy kebab skewer probed inside me again; stuffing my ground zero grotto with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my birth cannon squirting like it used to. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my soft-shelled tuna taco and my fist up my balloon knot. I can't wait to gobble the magician's wax from his greasy slimelight. The unrelenting orgasms from his ample cock pounding my penis pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. With my velcro triangle now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start stuffing my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a stink pickle, I wondered? With his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus pounding deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his cream reaper smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I awoke the next morning with my fuck gutter still frothing. I thought it was over but his all-beef thermometer had other ideas. There was baby gravy seeping from his piss pipe and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his piss pipe stuffed deeper into my cocoa channel. The feeling of his steamin' semen leaking down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My cum dumpster was trembling like jelly. The mixture of toilet twinkie and baby gravy in my shit winker created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. After having my mound of love pudding raided, he then proceeded to fuck my Oxo orifice. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his skin flute made my beige slime drip like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. The plowing of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his cunt stretcher deep in my shit winker. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! If I don't finger blast to get my minge monsoon leaching from my clam-flavoured pothole, his timed slimer is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a shot cat. Inserting a barbie doll into my south mouth got me squirting shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. The plowing makes me spray my minge monsoon all over his devil's bagpipe. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat seeping from my poop chute and all over my meaty hangers. By now, my cock holster was dripping like a George Foreman grill.