The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. I can't wait to consume the cock custard from his purple-headed trouser snake. It was bliss having his one-eyed monster slid inside me again; stuffing my chamber of squelch with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my clunge pool surging like it used to. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his throbbing quim dagger made my beige slime flow like a hungry pig at a trough. The hammering of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his brie baton deep in my black hole. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my ground zero grotto got me ejecting pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. He dropped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my twin peaks just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I awoke the next morning with my whispering eye still dripping. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and love mayonnaise in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my flange custard dribbling from my furry cup, his clunger is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. After having my salmon slit hammered, he then proceeded to slam my rusty sherif's badge. When he removed his jebend from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the Mr. Hanky off his gristle missile. There was cock custard frothing from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his vein cane soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my slime hole and my fist up my turd-herder. With my spam castanets now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start plunging my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his flesh gordon stuffed deeper into my fart valve. My birth cannon was trembling like a shitting dog. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a werewolf with it's throat cut, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his turgid terror truncheon pounding my hatchet wound made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. By now, my whispering eye was draining like a rabid dog. My throat was so full of cunt stretcher and cock custard, the ectoplasm was leaching down my chin and onto my love bubbles. The feeling of his ectoplasm leaking down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With his jade rod raiding deep into my cock holster, the sensation of his timed slimer smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The hammering makes me splurge my tuna tunnel tears all over his washington monument.

  There was steamin' semen frothing from his sperminator and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The hammering makes me pour my pussy batter all over his greasy slimelight. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy draining from my turd-herder and all over my fishy flaps. It was bliss having his blind butler plunged inside me again; stuffing my gammon alley with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my salmon slit spraying like it used to. My throat was so full of clunger and cock snot, the penis pudding was slobbering down my chin and onto my chest puppies. With my meaty hangers now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start ramming my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my birth cannon still trickling. I thought it was over but his long-dong silver had other ideas. He extruded a giant butt nugget on my top bollocks just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my one slice toaster got me surging minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. The feeling of his baby gravy dripping down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The pounding of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his gristle missile deep in my old dirt road. When he removed his devil's bagpipe from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the stink pickle off his cream reaper. With his jade rod raiding deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his ramrod smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. My cod canyon was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his brie baton rammed deeper into my mud flap. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his slut slayer raiding my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my wunder down under and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my turd-herder. I can't wait to chow down on the creamy load from his thrill drill. By now, my clearing in the woods was dripping like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! After having my mound of love pudding hammered, he then proceeded to slam my rusty sherif's badge. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my pussy batter flowing from my south mouth, his giggle stick is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his greasy slimelight made my minge monsoon seep like a broken coffee maker. The mixture of sewer trout and gentleman's relish in my balloon knot created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of.

  My whispering eye was trembling like a shitting dog. The unrelenting orgasms from his turgid terror truncheon pounding my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. Inserting my fist into my stench trench got me squirting clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. With his muffbuster fucking deep into my chamber of squelch, the sensation of his throbbing quim dagger smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. With my panty hamster now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start plunging my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a colon cobra, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss haemorrhaging from my old dirt road and all over my velcro triangle. He dropped a giant Mr. Hanky on my chest puppies just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. If I don't flick the bean to get my pussy batter dripping from my cod cave, his one-eyed monster is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a dropped burrito. It was bliss having his bugger king stuffed inside me again; stuffing my frilling pink golf bag with a number of chillies just didn't get my shamevelope spraying like it used to. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my kipper dinghy and an egg timer up my turd cutter. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his cumtree soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my shame portal was seeping like a leaky tap. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and ectoplasm in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my vibrator crater still sliming. I thought it was over but his cream reaper had other ideas. I can't wait to consume the love mayonnaise from his meaty member. My mouth was so full of slut slayer and love mayonnaise, the ectoplasm was draining down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. The feeling of his man fat dribbling down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. After having my quim raided, he then proceeded to plow my ring piece. There was love piss slobbering from his
flesh gordon and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his piss pipe made my vertical moisture flow like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The slamming makes me splurge my shrimp sap all over his giggle stick. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a werewolf with it's throat cut, and I was no different! When he removed his love muscle from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the butt nugget off his cunt plunger. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skeleton king slid deeper into my poo pipe.

  Inserting a barbie doll into my cock holster got me pouring beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit. The raiding makes me spout my beige slime all over his spunk-filled spam rocket. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his cumtree made my fallopian fish stock leak like a jizz waterfall. I awoke the next morning with my vaginal bacon buffet still slobbering. I thought it was over but his bald avenger had other ideas. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and man fat in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. There was man fat slobbering from his tenderloin truncheon and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. If I don't strum the banjo to get my tuna tunnel tears slobbering from my soft-shelled tuna taco, his purple beaver buster is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a sand blasted tomato. The unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper thrusting my south mouth made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. The plowing of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his skin flute deep in my fudge factory. It was bliss having his spam dagger rammed inside me again; stuffing my cod crater with a barbie doll just didn't get my spunk dungeon flooding like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his giggle stick rammed deeper into my fart valve. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his slut slayer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My penis pothole was trembling like a shitting dog. When he removed his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the colon cobra off his thrill drill. My throat was so full of kebeb skewer and penis pudding, the penis pudding was leaching down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! With his ample cock fucking deep into my ground zero grotto, the sensation of his skeleton king smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start ramming my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise dribbling from my tradesman's entrance and all over my beef curtains. The feeling of his ectoplasm dripping down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now, my gashtray was draining like a broken fridge freezer. After having my one slice toaster hammered, he then proceeded to plow my tradesman's entrance. I can't wait to consume the cock custard from his bald-headed yogurt slinger. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my cum dumpster and a barbie doll up my ring piece. He pinched off a giant stink pickle on my droopies just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough.

  I awoke the next morning with my front bum still foaming. I thought it was over but his love muscle had other ideas. My cake hole was so full of flesh gordon and penis pudding, the cock custard was sliming down my chin and onto my chesticles. The mixture of sewer trout and cock custard in my vintage golf bag created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't tune the tuna to get my sex wee dribbling from my enchilada of love, his thrill drill is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. My one slice toaster was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. It was bliss having his clunger stuffed inside me again; stuffing my depravity cavity with a lightbulb just didn't get my vibrator crater spattering like it used to. With his one-eyed monster fucking deep into my tuna canal, the sensation of his bugger king smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton spear slamming my fuck gutter made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his skeleton king soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was love mayonnaise sliming from his purple beaver buster and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. With my spam castanets now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start ramming my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a toilet twinkie, I wondered? I can't wait to gobble the cock snot from his Nelson's Column. When he removed his slut slayer from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the hardened fudge nugget off his long-dong silver. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my quim got me spritzing minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. The slamming of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his long-dong silver deep in my brown mile. By now, my frilling pink golf bag was frothing like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load slobbering from my fudge factory and all over my spam castanets. The pounding makes me flood my fallopian fish stock all over his huge penis. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his one-eyed milkman made my fallopian fish stock slobber like a George Foreman grill. The feeling of his cock custard leaking down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton spear stuffed deeper into my marmite motorway. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my quim and a 15" spiked vibrator up my mud flap. After having my bearded haddock pasty fucked, he then proceeded to pound my brown eye. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week.

  After having my cod crater slammed, he then proceeded to thrust my mud flap. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bugger king rammed deeper into my fart valve. He dropped a giant toilet twinkie on my chest puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. The hammering makes me spit my beige slime all over his long-dong silver. It was bliss having his jade rod probed inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam cavern with a squash just didn't get my oyster ditch surging like it used to. The feeling of his creamy load frothing down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his batter blaster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my furry cup was oozing like a George Foreman grill. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax flowing from my old dirt road and all over my vertical smile. The unrelenting orgasms from his Ocean's 11 Inches raiding my gashtray made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. I awoke the next morning with my oyster ditch still oozing. I thought it was over but his ample cock had other ideas. My wizards sleeve was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. If I don't buff the muff to get my tuna tunnel tears dribbling from my vaginal bacon buffet, his brie baton is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a stamped bat. Inserting an egg timer into my ladytown got me pouring fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my spam castanets now much like an over inflated
dinghy, he thought it was time to start shoving my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! When he removed his cunt stretcher from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the butt nugget off his greasy slimelight. I can't wait to suck the gentleman's relish from his stilton sword. The pounding of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his all-beef thermometer deep in my other vagina. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his tenderloin truncheon made my vertical moisture slobber like a slug in a salt mine. 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 cod crater and a gerbil up my other vagina. With his stilton sword plowing deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his greasy slimelight smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The mixture of colon cobra and cock custard in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. My cake hole was so full of cunt plunger and ectoplasm, the steamin' semen was frothing down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. There was steamin' semen dripping from his batter blaster and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more.