The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  The thrusting of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his cheese-crusted cock deep in my old dirt road. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his thrill drill stuffed deeper into my Oxo orifice. After having my whispering eye raided, he then proceeded to thrust my black hole. Inserting a number of chillies into my cock holster got me ejecting fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. The feeling of his baby gravy leaking down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My throat was so full of tenderloin truncheon and magician's wax, the magician's wax was flowing down my chin and onto my breasticles. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his womb raider soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my clunge pool was oozing like a leaky tap. My one slice toaster was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. If I don't tune the tuna to get my minge mucus flowing from my chamber of squelch, his bugger king is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and cock snot in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise haemorrhaging from my Oxo orifice and all over my piss flaps. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! With my hairy goblet now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start shoving my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The raiding makes me spit my vertical moisture all over his battering ram. With his batter blaster pounding deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet, the sensation of his turgid terror truncheon smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. There was man fat haemorrhaging from his ramrod and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. When he removed his ample cock from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the butt nugget off his pink tractor beam. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his skeleton king made my minge mucus froth like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. I can't wait to lap the penis pudding from his chubstep. He pitched a giant footlong fudge bullet on my love bubbles just so he could devour 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 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my wizards sleeve and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my cocoa channel. It was bliss having his tallywacker slid inside me again; stuffing my sperm socket with a squash just didn't get my wizards sleeve ejecting like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper pounding my fuck gutter made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs.

  My cake hole was so full of blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and cock custard, the baby gravy was sliming down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. The unrelenting orgasms from his ample cock pounding my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. If I don't finger blast to get my shrimp sap leaching from my cod crater, his meaty member is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. It was bliss having his master of ceremonies probed inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my wizards sleeve spouting like it used to. When he removed his batter blaster from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his greasy slimelight. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy dribbling from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my beef curtains. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his love lollipop soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his washington monument plunged deeper into my brown eye. By now, my fuck trench was dripping like a rabid dog. I awoke the next morning with my cod cave still foaming. I thought it was over but his tallywacker had other ideas. Inserting an egg timer into my tampon tunnel got me ejecting minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! The pounding of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his batter blaster deep in my black hole. He blasted a giant colon cobra on my droopies just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. After having my fuck trench hammered, he then proceeded to raid my puckered brown eye. My furry cup was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my tuna canal and a barbie doll up my old dirt road. There was creamy load dribbling from his spunk-filled spam rocket and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. I can't wait to chow down on the creamy load from his ample cock. The mixture of stink pickle and gentleman's relish in my balloon knot created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With his tenderloin truncheon hammering deep into my gaping clam cavern, the sensation of his cheese-crusted cock smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. With my fishy flaps now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start ramming my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a colon cobra, I wondered? The hammering makes me spray my minge mucus all over his veiny quim prod. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his mutton dagger made my spaff foam like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker.

  The unrelenting orgasms from his muffbuster fucking my mound of love pudding made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. With his stilton spear plowing deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his cheese-crusted cock smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his love muscle soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The raiding makes me spritz my flange custard all over his purple-headed trouser snake. When he removed his cream reaper from my marmite motorway, 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 stilton spear. He dropped a giant toilet twinkie on my superdroopers just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Nelson's Column probed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. If I don't study english cliterature to get my pussy batter weeping from my clam-flavoured pothole, his chubstep is going to leave my furburger resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my ground zero grotto and a lightbulb up my cocoa channel. I awoke the next morning with my mound of love pudding still dripping. I thought it was over but his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas. My mouth was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and love piss, the penis pudding was frothing down my chin and onto my breasticles. There was gentleman's relish draining from his cervix cigar and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I can't wait to suck the magician's wax from his clunger. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! With my fishy flaps now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start stuffing my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a butt nugget, I wondered? Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his jade rod made my beige slime ooze like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The pounding of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein gra
pes joining his chorizo howitzer deep in my poo pipe. Inserting an egg timer into my spunk dungeon got me surging minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My penis pothole was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. By now, my wizards sleeve was slobbering like a slug in a salt mine. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock custard in my poo pipe created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen leaking from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my furburger. It was bliss having his bald-headed yogurt slinger plunged inside me again; stuffing my cod canyon with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet spattering like it used to. After having my depravity cavity hammered, he then proceeded to thrust my fudge factory.

  With my velcro triangle now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start ramming my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a sewer trout, I wondered? Inserting a barbie doll into my spunk dungeon got me flowing shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. The feeling of his creamy load trickling down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his huge penis made my sex wee leach like a broken fridge freezer. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. My throat was so full of gristle missile and magician's wax, the cock custard was frothing down my chin and onto my boobage. With his pink tractor beam slamming deep into my meat purse, the sensation of his brie baton smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. I awoke the next morning with my depravity cavity still flowing. I thought it was over but his brie baton had other ideas. After having my calamari cockring raided, he then proceeded to thrust my chocolate starfish. If I don't strum the banjo to get my flange custard leaking from my split peach, his wrist-thick wand is going to leave my spam castanets resembling a dropped burrito. When he removed his timed slimer from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his blue-veined custard chucker. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher shoved inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with a gerbil just didn't get my spunk dungeon spouting like it used to. My chlamydia canal was trembling like a shitting dog. The raiding makes me spritz my fallopian fish stock all over his chorizo howitzer. The hammering of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his wensleydale wand deep in my other vagina. I can't wait to gobble the gentleman's relish from his Nelson's Column. He crowned a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my sweater puppies just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile pounding my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. There was love mayonnaise haemorrhaging from his love muscle and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise frothing from my rusty bullet hole and all over my vertical smile. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his skin flute soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton spear shoved deeper into my black hole. The mixture of sewer trout and cock snot in my Oxo orifice created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. By now, my spunk dungeon was leaking like a George Foreman grill. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different!

  After having my penis pothole hammered, he then proceeded to slam my Oxo orifice. It was bliss having his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus slid inside me again; stuffing my shame portal with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my clearing in the woods flooding like it used to. The feeling of his love piss foaming down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot sliming from my tradesman's entrance and all over my panty hamster. He pinched off a giant Mr. Hanky on my fiery biscuits just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my ruby cave still foaming. I thought it was over but his piss pipe had other ideas. With his thrill drill thrusting deep into my enchilada of love, the sensation of his jade rod smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his turgid terror truncheon rammed deeper into my fudge factory. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his slut slayer made my spaff seep like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. There was gentleman's relish draining from his cervix cigar and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my wunder down under got me spattering sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my hairy goblet now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start sliding my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my herring hole and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my chocolate starfish. I can't wait to consume the ectoplasm from his vein cane. The unrelenting orgasms from his throbbing quim dagger thrusting my vibration station made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and penis pudding in my brown eye created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. By now, my fuck trench was weeping like a leaky tap. If I don't flick the bean to get my clunge gunge trickling from my mound of love pudding, his long-dong silver is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! The plowing of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his master of ceremonies deep in my Oxo orifice. My cake hole was so full of wrist-thick wand and Da Vinci load, the love mayonnaise was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my breasticles. My front bum was trembling like a shitting dog. The thrusting makes me pour my minge monsoon all over his thrill drill.

  The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cumtree stuffed deeper into my other vagina. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax seeping from my puckered brown eye and all over my vertical smile. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The feeling of his penis pudding haemorrhaging down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With his brie baton raiding deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet, the sensation of his stilton sword smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. I can't wait to suck the love piss from his cunt stretcher. The raiding makes me gush my flange custard all over his blue-veined custard chucker. I awoke the next morning with my split peach still oozing. I thought it was over but his meaty member had other ideas. There was man fat frothing from his throbbing quim dagger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my vertical moisture foaming from my oyster ditch, his one-eyed monster is going to leave my clap flaps resembling that bathroom door in The Shining. Inserting an antique doorknob into my wunder down under got me spraying minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. He rolled a giant hardened fudge nugget on my twin peaks just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My ground zero grotto was trembling like a rat on acid. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the si
ght of his pink tractor beam made my minge mucus trickle like a jizz waterfall. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start stuffing my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a stink pickle, I wondered? When he removed his vein cane from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his love muscle. The mixture of colon cobra and Da Vinci load in my chocolate starfish created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. By now, my clam-flavoured pothole was dribbling like a slavering dog. The hammering of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his brie baton deep in my vintage golf bag. The unrelenting orgasms from his skeleton king fucking my shame portal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. My cake hole was so full of long-dong silver and magician's wax, the cock custard was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my breasticles. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my vibrator crater and a squash up my mud flap. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher probed inside me again; stuffing my fuck trench with my fist just didn't get my ladytown splurging like it used to.