The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his mutton dagger made my flange custard ooze like a slavering dog. I can't wait to consume the magician's wax from his long-dong silver. With my roast beef platter now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start shoving my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? The feeling of his steamin' semen dripping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He pitched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my chesticles just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax seeping from my black hole and all over my beef curtains. The hammering makes me flood my beige slime all over his cheese-crusted cock. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! If I don't fluff the muff to get my sex wee leaching from my municipal cockwash, his pink tractor beam is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a twisted slipper. By now, my oyster ditch was draining like a hungry pig at a trough. The plowing of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his Nelson's Column deep in my brown mile. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his devil's bagpipe soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my whispering eye got me pouring vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my bearded haddock pasty fucked, he then proceeded to raid my rusty bullet hole. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. With his sperminator pounding deep into my tampon tunnel, the sensation of his purple-headed trouser snake smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. It was bliss having his bugger king stuffed inside me again; stuffing my fuck gutter with an antique doorknob just didn't get my ladytown spattering like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his love muscle had other ideas. My cake hole was so full of cheese-crusted cock and love piss, the cock snot was sliming down my chin and onto my droopies. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his pink tractor beam plunged deeper into my marmite motorway. There was ectoplasm slobbering from his turgid terror truncheon and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick raiding my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. When he removed his timed slimer from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his flesh gordon. The mixture of colon cobra and creamy load in my poo pipe created the delicious rectal stew 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 a gerbil in my enchilada of love and a barbie doll up my rusty sherif's badge.

  With his cheese-crusted cock raiding deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his veiny quim prod smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bugger king probed deeper into my tradesman's entrance. The feeling of his love piss leaking down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My throat was so full of pink tractor beam and cock snot, the creamy load was dripping down my chin and onto my twin peaks. The thrusting of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his pink tractor beam deep in my rusty bullet hole. I awoke the next morning with my tampon tunnel still weeping. I thought it was over but his stilton spear had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm slobbering from my Mavis Fritter and all over my lunchmeat. By now, my calamari cockring was oozing like a leaky tap. It was bliss having his womb ferret slid inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with a squash just didn't get my gaping clam cavern spraying like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his brie baton slamming my vibrator crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. I can't wait to gobble the ectoplasm from his skin flute. He curled a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my superdroopers just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. After having my carp cavity thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my rusty sherif's badge. With my roast beef platter now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start shoving my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? 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 flick the bean to get my beige slime draining from my clearing in the woods, his washington monument is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a hippo's yawn. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! The mixture of Mr. Hanky and ectoplasm in my old dirt road created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his chorizo howitzer made my shrimp sap leak like a hungry pig at a trough. There was baby gravy trickling from his gristle missile and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his cervix cigar soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The raiding makes me spout my minge monsoon all over his blue-veined custard chucker. Inserting an egg timer into my tuna canal got me spouting beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit. When he removed his chubstep from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the sewer trout off his purple-headed trouser snake. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my vaginal bacon buffet and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my mud flap.

  He curled a giant hardened fudge nugget on my droopies just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. My throat was so full of brie baton and magician's wax, the Da Vinci load was foaming down my chin and onto my boobage. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my beige slime oozing from my frilling pink golf bag, his wensleydale wand is going to leave my panty hamster resembling Brian May's plughole. By now, my moose knuckle was oozing like a George Foreman grill. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his pink tractor beam made my beige slime froth like a slug in a salt mine. The hammering makes me squirt my flange custard all over his Ocean's 11 Inches. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard leaching from my old dirt road and all over my hairy goblet. There was gentleman's relish weeping from his pink tractor beam and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his turgid terror truncheon hammering my fuck gutter made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. With his love lollipop fucking deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his love lollipop smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The plowing of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his love muscle deep in my rusty bullet hole. With my panty hamster now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start shoving my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my ruby cave still dribbling. I thought it was over but his bald avenger had other ideas. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! When he removed his flesh gordon from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the corn-eyed butt snake off his bald avenger. I can't wait to consume the steamin' semen from his turgid terror truncheon. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cumtre
e probed deeper into my puckered brown eye. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his purple beaver buster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My cod crater was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Inserting an antique doorknob into my quim got me flowing minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. The feeling of his love piss leaching down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his skeleton king plunged inside me again; stuffing my herring hole with a 9-iron just didn't get my calamari cockring flooding like it used to. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and steamin' semen in my turd cutter created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. After having my tuna canal thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my tradesman's entrance.

  The mixture of sewer trout and love mayonnaise in my brown mile created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my smush mitten still draining. I thought it was over but his purple-headed trouser snake had other ideas. After having my whispering eye pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my chocolate starfish. My slime hole was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The thrusting of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his ramrod deep in my poo pipe. With my flappy meal now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start sliding my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The thrusting makes me spout my tuna tunnel tears all over his long-dong silver. When he removed his slut slayer from my fart valve, 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 love muscle. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his Ocean's 11 Inches made my fallopian fish stock foam like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. There was creamy load sliming from his cream reaper and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. With his ample cock pounding deep into my smush mitten, the sensation of his disco stick smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. By now, my clunge pool was leaking like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt plunger stuffed deeper into my balloon knot. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my chlamydia canal got me flooding spaff faster than snot off a whip. He pinched off a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my breasticles just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My cake hole was so full of devil's bagpipe and creamy load, the love piss was leaching down my chin and onto my top bollocks. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! I can't wait to devour the magician's wax from his chorizo howitzer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load haemorrhaging from my chocolate starfish and all over my piss flaps. The unrelenting orgasms from his sperminator pounding my tampon tunnel made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. It was bliss having his devil's bagpipe probed inside me again; stuffing my mound of love pudding with an egg timer just didn't get my fuck trench spraying like it used to. The feeling of his steamin' semen oozing down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. If I don't flick the bean to get my sex wee seeping from my pink velvet sausage wallet, his cervix cigar is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a rabid baboon's arse. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my one slice toaster and my fist up my poo pipe.

  My one slice toaster was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his kebeb skewer probed deeper into my poo pipe. If I don't fluff the muff to get my beige slime seeping from my tuna canal, his stilton spear is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling Pete Burns' lips. The feeling of his cock snot leaking down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip. By now, my spunk dungeon was sliming like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. The fucking makes me surge my tuna tunnel tears all over his one-eyed milkman. After having my cod canyon hammered, he then proceeded to slam my cocoa channel. My throat was so full of chorizo howitzer and baby gravy, the steamin' semen was leaching down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. Inserting a barbie doll into my soft-shelled tuna taco got me flowing clunge gunge faster than snot off a whip. I can't wait to suck the steamin' semen from his veiny quim prod. The unrelenting orgasms from his bugger king pounding my birth cannon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. There was man fat haemorrhaging from his one-eyed milkman and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. When he removed his gristle missile from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his one-eyed milkman. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his sperminator made my fallopian fish stock slobber like a rabid dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his pink tractor beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his kebeb skewer pounding deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his cheese-crusted cock smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. He pinched off a giant butt nugget on my love bubbles just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. The raiding of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his ample cock deep in my shit winker. The mixture of sewer trout and cock custard in my cocoa channel created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat foaming from my other vagina and all over my panty hamster. With my spam castanets now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start sliding my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a sewer trout, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my vibration station still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his ample cock had other ideas. It was bliss having his jade rod shoved inside me again; stuffing my shamevelope with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my bearded haddock pasty flooding like it used to. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my gaping clam cavern and a gerbil up my rusty sherif's badge. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different!

  The fucking makes me gush my fallopian fish stock all over his blind butler. It was bliss having his wensleydale wand slid inside me again; stuffing my ruby cave with an antique doorknob just didn't get my calamari cockring squirting like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his clunger slamming my cock holster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. I awoke the next morning with my wunder down under still frothing. I thought it was over but his mutton dagger had other ideas. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. I can't wait to lap the magician's wax from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. My throat was so full of clunger and Da Vinci load, the cock snot was trickling down my chin and onto my superdroopers. My mound of love pudding was trembling like a rat on acid. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his purple beaver buster rammed deeper into my poo pipe. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! By now, my soft-shelled tuna taco was leaking like a rabid dog. There was cock custard dripping from his slut slayer and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The fucking of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his love muscle deep in my rusty bullet hole. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off withou
t having a barbie doll in my salmon slit and a 15" spiked vibrator up my turd-herder. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my clunge gunge frothing from my mound of love pudding, his chorizo howitzer is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a gutted trout. After having my split peach pounded, he then proceeded to raid my turd cutter. The mixture of stink pickle and man fat in my old dirt road created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The feeling of his Da Vinci load slobbering down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Inserting my fist into my fuck gutter got me surging shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. With my vertical garden now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start sliding my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? He eased out a giant colon cobra on my droopies just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise leaching from my brown mile and all over my furburger. With his sperminator raiding deep into my depravity cavity, the sensation of his master of ceremonies smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. When he removed his womb raider from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the Mr. Hanky off his battering ram. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his cunt plunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.