The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! It was bliss having his cervix cigar rammed inside me again; stuffing my ruby cave with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my carp cavity spraying like it used to. The slamming of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his veiny quim prod deep in my marmite motorway. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and ectoplasm in my fudge factory created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The slamming makes me squirt my minge mucus all over his ramrod. I awoke the next morning with my mound of love pudding still frothing. I thought it was over but his mutton dagger had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his muffbuster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my furburger now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start probing my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a sewer trout, I wondered? He rolled a giant Mr. Hanky on my mosquito bites just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his love muscle made my shrimp sap slobber like a slug in a salt mine. My throat was so full of one-eyed monster and penis pudding, the cock snot was dripping down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. When he removed his chorizo howitzer from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the sewer trout off his purple beaver buster. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my smush mitten and a gerbil up my turd cutter. By now, my gammon alley was haemorrhaging like a jizz waterfall. After having my sperm socket plowed, he then proceeded to slam my fudge factory. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy dripping from my Mavis Fritter and all over my piss flaps. My moose knuckle was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. With his spam javelin pounding deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his thrill drill 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 wensleydale wand slid deeper into my Oxo orifice. The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy slimelight plowing my tampon tunnel made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. If I don't strum the banjo to get my vertical moisture oozing from my tampon tunnel, his bugger king is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling Pete Burns' lips. Inserting an egg timer into my gammon alley got me splurging fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to consume the love mayonnaise from his Ocean's 11 Inches. The feeling of his steamin' semen sliming down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.

  The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his sperminator soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was penis pudding dribbling from his purple beaver buster and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. By now, my sperm socket was draining like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The raiding makes me splurge my spaff all over his Nelson's Column. With my vertical smile now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start probing my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a sewer trout, I wondered? My cake hole was so full of eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and cock custard, the penis pudding was flowing down my chin and onto my chesticles. The unrelenting orgasms from his battering ram plowing my meat purse made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. He curled a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my rack just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't wait to lap the love mayonnaise from his stilton spear. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his purple-headed trouser snake shoved deeper into my vintage golf bag. I awoke the next morning with my clearing in the woods still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his Ocean's 11 Inches had other ideas. When he removed his giggle stick from my black hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the colon cobra off his blind butler. My front bum was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. If I don't buff the muff to get my sex wee flowing from my stench trench, his love lollipop is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a hippo's yawn. After having my chlamydia canal fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my puckered brown eye. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish leaking from my turd cutter and all over my velcro triangle. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! The mixture of toilet twinkie and steamin' semen in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his spam dagger shoved inside me again; stuffing my bearded haddock pasty with my fist just didn't get my chlamydia canal spraying like it used to. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his purple-headed trouser snake made my beige slime weep like a broken fridge freezer. Inserting my fist into my moose knuckle got me splurging beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. With his pink tractor beam pounding deep into my cod canyon, the sensation of his spam dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The slamming of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his wensleydale wand deep in my rusty bullet hole. The feeling of his baby gravy seeping down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip.

  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 ruby cave and a barbie doll up my turd-herder. There was gentleman's relish sliming from his wrist-thick wand and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. With his meaty member plowing deep into my quim, the sensation of his tallywacker smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The feeling of his cock custard slobbering down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. He blasted a giant sewer trout on my love bubbles just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and Da Vinci load in my puckered brown eye created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. With my clap flaps now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start plunging my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a butt nugget, I wondered? The raiding of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his purple-headed trouser snake deep in my shit winker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his mutton dagger probed deeper into my marmite motorway. Inserting a 9-iron into my vibration station got me surging beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my tampon tunnel still draining. I thought it was over but his cunt plunger had other ideas. The fucking makes me flow my beige slime all over his disco stick. I can't wait to chow down on the magician's wax from his cunt stretcher. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his purple-headed trouser snake made my vertical moisture ooze like a slavering dog. If I don't study english cliterature to get my clunge gunge draining from my enchilada of love, his chorizo howitzer is going to leave my piss flaps resembling the south end of a badger going north. After having my oyster ditch pounded, he then proceeded to plow my fudge factory. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load leaching from my rusty bullet hole and all over my vertical smile. The unrelenting orgasms from his skeleton king thrusting my clearing in the woods made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. My cod cave was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Ho
urs of pounding like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! My cake hole was so full of womb raider and gentleman's relish, the baby gravy was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my twin peaks. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher rammed inside me again; stuffing my depravity cavity with a lightbulb just didn't get my hatchet wound flowing like it used to. When he removed his jebend from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the Mr. Hanky off his huge penis. By now, my split peach was draining like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home.

  I awoke the next morning with my ruby cave still dripping. I thought it was over but his purple beaver buster had other ideas. It was bliss having his disco stick rammed inside me again; stuffing my kipper dinghy with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my bearded haddock pasty gushing like it used to. My kipper dinghy was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. There was ectoplasm draining from his purple beaver buster and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The pounding makes me squirt my spaff all over his gristle missile. With his meaty member raiding deep into my gashtray, the sensation of his cheese-crusted cock smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my one slice toaster and a number of chillies up my marmite motorway. After having my chlamydia canal plowed, he then proceeded to raid my turd cutter. When he removed his chorizo howitzer 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 consume the butt nugget off his clunger. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen leaking from my brown eye and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald avenger slamming my south mouth made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. If I don't play the clitar to get my clunge gunge weeping from my fuck gutter, his gristle missile is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling Terry Waite's allotment. I can't wait to gobble the magician's wax from his skin flute. My cake hole was so full of blind butler and steamin' semen, the cock custard was seeping down my chin and onto my tatas. The pounding of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his wrist-thick wand deep in my puckered brown eye. The mixture of butt nugget and creamy load in my other vagina created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam javelin shoved deeper into my fart valve. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his balony pony soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! Inserting an antique doorknob into my south mouth got me spritzing sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my velcro triangle now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start shoving my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his mutton dagger made my minge mucus slime like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The feeling of his steamin' semen sliming down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He pinched off a giant Mr. Hanky on my rack just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough.

  I awoke the next morning with my hot pocket still slobbering. I thought it was over but his flesh gordon had other ideas. He cut a giant toilet twinkie on my chest puppies just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting a lightbulb into my gaping clam cavern got me ejecting shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. With my clap flaps now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start probing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a toilet twinkie, I wondered? There was love mayonnaise leaking from his clunger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his master of ceremonies rammed deeper into my black hole. I can't wait to lap the penis pudding from his womb raider. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my beige slime leaking from my clunge pool, his turgid terror truncheon is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a hippo's yawn. It was bliss having his huge penis shoved inside me again; stuffing my salmon slit with an egg timer just didn't get my gaping clam cavern surging like it used to. By now, my pink velvet sausage wallet was slobbering like a slug in a salt mine. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his jade rod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The plowing makes me eject my shrimp sap all over his balony pony. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and gentleman's relish in my brown mile created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. After having my vibration station fucked, he then proceeded to raid my ring piece. The hammering of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his stilton spear deep in my ring piece. With his wensleydale wand slamming deep into my calamari cockring, the sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. 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 15" spiked vibrator in my smush mitten and an egg timer up my puckered brown eye. When he removed his kebeb skewer from my balloon knot, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the butt nugget off his washington monument. The unrelenting orgasms from his throbbing quim dagger pounding my enchilada of love made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The feeling of his man fat dripping down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus made my tuna tunnel tears weep like a slavering dog. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax sliming from my old dirt road and all over my furburger. My mound of love pudding was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week.

  When he removed his slut slayer from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the toilet twinkie off his jade rod. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword thrusting my carp cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. He munched on my roast beef platter, 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 balony pony slid deeper into my Mavis Fritter. The hammering of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his throbbing quim dagger deep in my ring piece. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my shrimp sap dripping from my fuck trench, his chubstep is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. After having my chlamydia canal thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my fudge factory. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my hot pocket and a lightbulb up my poop chute. Inserting an egg timer into my salmon slit got me splurging tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. It was bliss having his muffbuster plunged inside me again; stuffing my meat purse with a gerbil just didn't get my kipper dinghy spritzing like it used to. My throat was so full of wensleydale wand and baby gravy, the ectoplasm was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my love bubbles. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his purple beaver buster made my pussy batter flow like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolat
e river. The mixture of toilet twinkie and ectoplasm in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his flesh gordon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to gobble the man fat from his blue-veined custard chucker. With my furburger now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start sliding my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a sewer trout, I wondered? The pounding makes me eject my vertical moisture all over his jade rod. He dropped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my mammaries just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. By now, my ladytown was leaching like a broken fridge freezer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy draining from my turd cutter and all over my vertical garden. I awoke the next morning with my hatchet wound still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his blue-veined custard chucker had other ideas. With his one-eyed monster raiding deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his wensleydale wand smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The feeling of his penis pudding seeping down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. There was steamin' semen frothing from his spunk-filled spam rocket and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. My gashtray was trembling like a shitting dog.