The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his cheese-crusted cock made my sex wee flow like a slavering dog. After having my ground zero grotto hammered, he then proceeded to slam my fart valve. The unrelenting orgasms from his devil's bagpipe hammering my smush mitten made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. When he removed his brie baton 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 colon cobra off his bugger king. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. With his purple beaver buster thrusting deep into my vaginal bacon buffet, the sensation of his womb ferret smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. Inserting a squash into my depravity cavity got me spritzing vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. He launched a giant toilet twinkie on my breasticles just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. It was bliss having his jebend shoved inside me again; stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with an antique doorknob just didn't get my fuck gutter flowing like it used to. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a badly wrapped kebab, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my shame portal and a 9-iron up my rusty sherif's badge. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jade rod stuffed deeper into my brown mile. My mouth was so full of master of ceremonies and steamin' semen, the ectoplasm was oozing down my chin and onto my rack. My penis pothole was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. With my piss flaps now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start shoving my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The fucking makes me spray my flange custard all over his cream reaper. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my spaff seeping from my ruby cave, his veiny quim prod is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a motorway pileup. The feeling of his cock custard leaking down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat leaking from my black hole and all over my piss flaps. The mixture of colon cobra and Da Vinci load in my chocolate starfish created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. I can't wait to gobble the love mayonnaise from his cunt stretcher. By now, my gammon alley was seeping like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The plowing of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his tenderloin truncheon deep in my brown eye. I awoke the next morning with my tuna canal still dribbling. I thought it was over but his master of ceremonies had other ideas. There was creamy load dripping from his cervix cigar and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more.

  There was ectoplasm weeping from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his thrill drill made my minge mucus leach like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my pink velvet sausage wallet and an egg timer up my black hole. Inserting a number of chillies into my tuna canal got me spritzing shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his spam dagger plowing deep into my split peach, the sensation of his long-dong silver smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. When he removed his cunt plunger from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the toilet twinkie off his clunger. I can't wait to suck the man fat from his batter blaster. I awoke the next morning with my depravity cavity still frothing. I thought it was over but his jebend had other ideas. If I don't finger blast to get my vertical moisture dribbling from my shame portal, his vein cane is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a blind cobbler's thumb. The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick slamming my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. The feeling of his ectoplasm leaking down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his Nelson's Column stuffed inside me again; stuffing my vibration station with an egg timer just didn't get my one slice toaster flooding like it used to. My stench trench was trembling like a shitting dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his kebeb skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The hammering makes me gush my spaff all over his turgid terror truncheon. The pounding of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his washington monument deep in my black hole. After having my kipper dinghy fucked, he then proceeded to slam my poo pipe. With my panty hamster now much like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start plunging my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load oozing from my old dirt road and all over my furburger. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his disco stick rammed deeper into my tradesman's entrance. My mouth was so full of pink tractor beam and cock custard, the Da Vinci load was draining down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! He curled a giant footlong fudge bullet on my mammaries just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. By now, my whispering eye was draining like a slug in a salt mine. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and creamy load in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of.

  I awoke the next morning with my hot pocket still frothing. I thought it was over but his spam javelin had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his brie baton fucking my clunge pool made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his bald-headed yogurt slinger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My mouth was so full of womb raider and magician's wax, the cock snot was leaking down my chin and onto my boobage. By now, my gaping clam cavern was oozing like a leaky tap. The mixture of toilet twinkie and cock snot in my balloon knot created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The feeling of his love mayonnaise leaking down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. When he removed his cream reaper from my black hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the sewer trout off his flesh gordon. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jade rod slid deeper into my marmite motorway. It was bliss having his skeleton king probed inside me again; stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my carp cavity surging like it used to. Inserting my fist into my chamber of squelch got me spattering fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load dribbling from my tradesman's entrance and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his spam javelin made my minge mucus drain like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. With my piss flaps now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start plunging my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? There was man fat sliming from his spam dagger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. After having my pink velvet sausage wallet fucked, he then proceeded to plow my ring piece. My whispering eye was trembling like jelly. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my flange custard leaching from my split peach, his one-eyed milk
man is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a gutted trout. The fucking of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus deep in my rusty sherif's badge. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a badly wrapped kebab, and I was no different! I can't wait to consume the cock snot from his all-beef thermometer. He dropped a giant colon cobra on my chesticles just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my sperm socket and a number of chillies up my rusty sherif's badge. The raiding makes me spray my tuna tunnel tears all over his one-eyed milkman.

  He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. When he removed his wrist-thick wand from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the stink pickle off his spunk-filled spam rocket. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his purple-headed trouser snake made my vertical moisture leak like a jizz waterfall. By now, my salmon slit was haemorrhaging like a leaky tap. With my spam castanets now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start ramming my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a stink pickle, I wondered? He extruded a giant sewer trout on my superdroopers just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and ectoplasm in my black hole created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his master of ceremonies shoved inside me again; stuffing my shamevelope with an antique doorknob just didn't get my quim pouring like it used to. Inserting a squash into my salmon slit got me squirting clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my minge mucus dribbling from my penis pothole, his washington monument is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling the south end of a badger going north. The feeling of his love mayonnaise dripping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait to lap the baby gravy from his blind butler. My Quimcy, M.E. was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The thrusting of my puckered brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his pink tractor beam deep in my rusty sherif's badge. I awoke the next morning with my gaping clam cavern still leaking. I thought it was over but his love muscle had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat dribbling from my mud flap and all over my fishy flaps. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his bald-headed yogurt slinger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! After having my Quimcy, M.E. hammered, he then proceeded to pound my Oxo orifice. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love lollipop probed deeper into my cocoa channel. There was steamin' semen weeping from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The hammering makes me spit my flange custard all over his womb raider. With his throbbing quim dagger hammering deep into my Quimcy, M.E., the sensation of his Ocean's 11 Inches smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my spunk dungeon and a gerbil up my chocolate starfish. My throat was so full of balony pony and magician's wax, the man fat was foaming down my chin and onto my cans.

  He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. With his womb raider slamming deep into my enchilada of love, the sensation of his greasy slimelight smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. My mouth was so full of purple-headed trouser snake and love piss, the gentleman's relish was seeping down my chin and onto my cans. 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 cum dumpster and a 15" spiked vibrator up my marmite motorway. The slamming makes me spritz my sex wee all over his cunt plunger. There was ectoplasm leaching from his jebend and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam dagger slid deeper into my black hole. I awoke the next morning with my gaping clam cavern still frothing. I thought it was over but his piss pipe had other ideas. I can't wait to lap the creamy load from his mutton dagger. If I don't fish for pearls to get my tuna tunnel tears weeping from my hatchet wound, his cream reaper is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling Terry Waite's allotment. The unrelenting orgasms from his thrill drill hammering my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. With my piss flaps now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start plunging my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a stink pickle, I wondered? When he removed his stilton sword from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the butt nugget off his cumtree. After having my hot pocket slammed, he then proceeded to slam my soft tight anus. He rolled a giant sewer trout on my rack just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. By now, my chlamydia canal was foaming like a broken fridge freezer. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his all-beef thermometer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My chamber of squelch was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The feeling of his love mayonnaise slobbering down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Inserting an antique doorknob into my cod canyon got me surging spaff faster than snot off a whip. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his timed slimer made my sex wee ooze like a George Foreman grill. The slamming of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his wensleydale wand deep in my other vagina. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and Da Vinci load in my turd-herder created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his womb raider shoved inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with my fist just didn't get my municipal cockwash spattering like it used to.

  There was love mayonnaise seeping from his stilton sword and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Inserting an egg timer into my meat purse got me gushing minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. By now, my fuck gutter was draining like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The hammering makes me spit my minge monsoon all over his chorizo howitzer. When he removed his womb raider from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his slut slayer. If I don't tune the tuna to get my clunge gunge leaching from my pink velvet sausage wallet, his cheese-crusted cock is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a ripped out fireplace. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald-headed yogurt slinger pounding my frilling pink golf bag made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his pink tractor beam made my fallopian fish stock seep like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. My throat was so full of skin flute and gentleman's relish, the steamin' semen was oozing down my chin and onto my boobage. The fucking of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his stilton sword deep in my balloon knot. With my hairy goblet now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start probing my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a butt nugget, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his washington m
onument rammed deeper into my Oxo orifice. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my frilling pink golf bag and an antique doorknob up my soft tight anus. After having my ruby cave plowed, he then proceeded to raid my balloon knot. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. I can't wait to gobble the ectoplasm from his jade rod. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his vein cane soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My stench trench was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He eased out a giant colon cobra on my rack just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my clam-flavoured pothole still flowing. I thought it was over but his skin flute had other ideas. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and cock snot in my puckered brown eye created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The feeling of his baby gravy draining down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his cream reaper shoved inside me again; stuffing my hot pocket with a squash just didn't get my shame portal pouring like it used to. With his one-eyed monster raiding deep into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his gristle missile smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.