The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his batter blaster probed deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. It was bliss having his flesh gordon probed inside me again; stuffing my ladytown with a number of chillies just didn't get my vibrator crater flooding like it used to. After having my front bum thrusted, he then proceeded to plow my soft tight anus. The feeling of his magician's wax frothing down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. 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 chamber of squelch and a 15" spiked vibrator up my soft tight anus. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen slobbering from my marmite motorway and all over my lunchmeat. The pounding makes me flood my sex wee all over his jade rod. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his cervix cigar plowing my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The mixture of sewer trout and love mayonnaise in my turd-herder created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. When he removed his all-beef thermometer from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the stink pickle off his womb raider. I can't wait to chow down on the cock custard from his purple beaver buster. Inserting a barbie doll into my one slice toaster got me spattering shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. The fucking of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his greasy kebab skewer deep in my mud flap. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his purple beaver buster made my flange custard haemorrhage like a leaky tap. With his love lollipop plowing deep into my herring hole, the sensation of his spam dagger smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. With my purple cabbage now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start stuffing my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a stink pickle, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his muffbuster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my wunder down under was leaking like a slavering dog. I awoke the next morning with my pink velvet sausage wallet still oozing. I thought it was over but his cunt plunger had other ideas. My throat was so full of veiny quim prod and gentleman's relish, the baby gravy was sliming down my chin and onto my love bubbles. There was cock custard trickling from his meaty member and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. He eased out a giant Mr. Hanky on my sweater puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my beige slime flowing from my cod cave, his chorizo howitzer is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel.

  The plowing makes me eject my spaff all over his long-dong silver. If I don't strum the banjo to get my minge mucus haemorrhaging from my split peach, his flesh gordon is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a blind cobbler's thumb. 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 moose knuckle and a 15" spiked vibrator up my balloon knot. It was bliss having his cumtree rammed inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my clam-flavoured pothole gushing like it used to. After having my whispering eye plowed, he then proceeded to plow my turd-herder. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! When he removed his blue-veined custard chucker from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his love muscle. There was magician's wax haemorrhaging from his balony pony and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The mixture of sewer trout and magician's wax in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. My meat purse was trembling like a shitting dog. I can't wait to suck the love piss from his gristle missile. Inserting a 9-iron into my enchilada of love got me spraying minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his gristle missile plunged deeper into my cocoa channel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy draining from my black hole and all over my spam castanets. The feeling of his ectoplasm seeping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his cunt plunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My mouth was so full of disco stick and love mayonnaise, the cock custard was foaming down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. The thrusting of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his battering ram deep in my chocolate starfish. The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod pounding my chamber of squelch made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his bald-headed yogurt slinger made my flange custard drip like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. With his bald-headed yogurt slinger raiding deep into my cum dumpster, the sensation of his kebeb skewer smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. I awoke the next morning with my birth cannon still draining. I thought it was over but his chorizo howitzer had other ideas. With my piss flaps now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? By now, my ruby cave was seeping like a slug in a salt mine.

  After having my wunder down under hammered, he then proceeded to plow my vintage golf bag. The thrusting makes me spray my flange custard all over his master of ceremonies. I awoke the next morning with my cod canyon still weeping. I thought it was over but his huge penis had other ideas. With his wrist-thick wand pounding deep into my soft-shelled tuna taco, the sensation of his skin flute smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. My mouth was so full of timed slimer and Da Vinci load, the cock snot was dripping down my chin and onto my superdroopers. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton spear hammering my kipper dinghy made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The feeling of his ectoplasm foaming down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The plowing of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his tenderloin truncheon deep in my mud flap. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my tuna tunnel tears sliming from my mound of love pudding, his jade rod is going to leave my furburger resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. He blasted a giant colon cobra on my top bollocks just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I can't wait to consume the gentleman's relish from his mutton dagger. When he removed his skeleton king from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his cream reaper. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his stilton sword soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The mixture of toilet twinkie and steamin' semen in my vintage golf bag created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. My hatchet wound was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. By now, my ground zero grotto was sliming like a rabid dog. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my front bum and my fist up my vintage golf bag. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his ramrod made my flange custard ha
emorrhage like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my tampon tunnel got me surging vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his master of ceremonies plunged inside me again; stuffing my vibration station with an egg timer just didn't get my calamari cockring surging like it used to. There was baby gravy leaking from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb ferret rammed deeper into my brown eye. With my flappy meal now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start stuffing my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a butt nugget, I wondered?

  The mixture of Mr. Hanky and creamy load in my mud flap created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I can't wait to suck the gentleman's relish from his turgid terror truncheon. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. If I don't finger blast to get my minge mucus haemorrhaging from my gaping clam cavern, his pink tractor beam is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a rabid baboon's arse. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! Inserting a number of chillies into my penis pothole got me gushing minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The feeling of his cock snot oozing down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my furburger now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start shoving my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? The plowing of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his kebeb skewer deep in my brown mile. It was bliss having his sperminator shoved inside me again; stuffing my chamber of squelch with an antique doorknob just didn't get my kipper dinghy splurging like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding sliming from my rusty bullet hole and all over my vertical garden. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his purple-headed trouser snake made my minge mucus leak like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. After having my wizards sleeve raided, he then proceeded to hammer my vintage golf bag. With his jebend fucking deep into my slime hole, the sensation of his blind butler smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The unrelenting orgasms from his meaty member slamming my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. My mouth was so full of bald-headed yogurt slinger and Da Vinci load, the penis pudding was sliming down my chin and onto my tatas. 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 slime hole and my fist up my turd cutter. The pounding makes me surge my shrimp sap all over his huge penis. When he removed his devil's bagpipe from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the toilet twinkie off his bugger king. By now, my spunk dungeon was sliming like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. My gaping clam cavern was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love muscle plunged deeper into my black hole. There was steamin' semen dripping from his Nelson's Column and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole still leaching. I thought it was over but his vein cane had other ideas. He copped a giant sewer trout on my twin peaks just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough.

  The raiding of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my fart valve. He crowned a giant Mr. Hanky on my sweater puppies just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. If I don't finger blast to get my spaff trickling from my soft-shelled tuna taco, his greasy slimelight is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a manatee in yoga pants. I awoke the next morning with my cod cave still oozing. I thought it was over but his stilton sword had other ideas. My kipper dinghy was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The unrelenting orgasms from his huge penis plowing my fuck trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. The slamming makes me spritz my pussy batter all over his jebend. There was ectoplasm dribbling from his Ocean's 11 Inches and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my kipper dinghy and a lightbulb up my tradesman's entrance. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. I can't wait to lap the love mayonnaise from his washington monument. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb ferret plunged deeper into my marmite motorway. The feeling of his Da Vinci load oozing down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Inserting a barbie doll into my furry cup got me splurging tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and man fat in my Oxo orifice created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon fucking deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his stilton spear smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. My mouth was so full of clunger and man fat, the penis pudding was slobbering down my chin and onto my droopies. After having my frilling pink golf bag pounded, he then proceeded to slam my shit winker. When he removed his jebend from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his master of ceremonies. By now, my cum dumpster was draining like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. It was bliss having his thrill drill slid inside me again; stuffing my smush mitten with an antique doorknob just didn't get my sperm socket ejecting like it used to. With my vertical garden now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start stuffing my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my clunge gunge weep like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load seeping from my cocoa channel and all over my meaty hangers. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different!

  He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. By now, my salmon slit was draining like a hungry pig at a trough. If I don't finger blast to get my minge monsoon haemorrhaging from my ruby cave, his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus is going to leave my spam castanets resembling a stuntman's knee. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding draining from my puckered brown eye and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. My throat was so full of Nelson's Column and ectoplasm, the gentleman's relish was leaching down my chin and onto my superdroopers. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and ectoplasm in my other vagina created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his piss pipe raiding my meat purse made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. With my vertical garden now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start ramming my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? With his spam javelin raiding deep into my wizards sleeve, the sensation of his purple-headed trouser snake smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. I awoke the next morning with my ladytown still seeping. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. The feeling of his man fat haemorrhaging down my thr
oat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my oyster ditch pounded, he then proceeded to raid my mud flap. There was ectoplasm trickling from his chorizo howitzer and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his thrill drill shoved inside me again; stuffing my one slice toaster with a gerbil just didn't get my oyster ditch surging like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his clunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The thrusting of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his chubstep deep in my ring piece. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus slid deeper into my chocolate starfish. When he removed his cream reaper from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the footlong fudge bullet off his one-eyed monster. I can't wait to devour the man fat from his one-eyed milkman. He crowned a giant hardened fudge nugget on my superdroopers just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The thrusting makes me splurge my flange custard all over his pink tractor beam. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my clunge pool and a lightbulb up my poop chute. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his bugger king made my minge monsoon drip like a broken fridge freezer. My slime hole was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.