The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  My south mouth was trembling like a shitting dog. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my tuna tunnel tears foam like a slug in a salt mine. By now, my tuna canal was haemorrhaging like a leaky tap. If I don't strum the banjo to get my minge mucus frothing from my depravity cavity, his timed slimer is going to leave my furburger resembling a badly wrapped kebab. I awoke the next morning with my cock holster still seeping. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his ample cock soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The plowing makes me flow my spaff all over his vein cane. The unrelenting orgasms from his Nelson's Column pounding my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb ferret slid deeper into my shit winker. There was Da Vinci load haemorrhaging from his huge penis and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his love muscle rammed inside me again; stuffing my one slice toaster with a lightbulb just didn't get my meat purse splurging like it used to. My mouth was so full of one-eyed milkman and Da Vinci load, the ectoplasm was slobbering down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. I can't wait to devour the steamin' semen from his kebeb skewer. The raiding of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his cervix cigar deep in my Oxo orifice. He extruded a giant stink pickle on my superdroopers just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my birth cannon and a barbie doll up my ring piece. Inserting a lightbulb into my slime hole got me flowing shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and love piss in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. After having my ladytown raided, he then proceeded to fuck my poo pipe. When he removed his greasy slimelight 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 gobble the footlong fudge bullet off his gristle missile. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding dripping from my chocolate starfish and all over my meaty hangers. With my vertical smile now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start ramming my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? With his jade rod slamming deep into my fuck trench, the sensation of his love lollipop smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.

  The mixture of colon cobra and love piss in my Oxo orifice created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. If I don't tune the tuna to get my sex wee foaming from my ground zero grotto, his cervix cigar is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a manatee in yoga pants. The thrusting makes me squirt my spaff all over his skeleton king. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bugger king probed deeper into my soft tight anus. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish slobbering from my turd cutter and all over my vertical garden. It was bliss having his cumtree plunged inside me again; stuffing my mound of love pudding with a barbie doll just didn't get my calamari cockring flowing like it used to. Inserting a number of chillies into my moose knuckle got me squirting flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. There was magician's wax frothing from his long-dong silver and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. My throat was so full of spunk-filled spam rocket and gentleman's relish, the magician's wax was dripping down my chin and onto my chesticles. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his chubstep raiding my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The fucking of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his greasy slimelight deep in my marmite motorway. With my vertical smile now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start shoving my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my tampon tunnel still frothing. I thought it was over but his master of ceremonies had other ideas. My meat purse was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He pitched a giant sewer trout on my rack just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my ladytown and a gerbil up my fudge factory. After having my calamari cockring fucked, he then proceeded to slam my marmite motorway. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his greasy kebab skewer made my fallopian fish stock slobber like a broken coffee maker. When he removed his jebend 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 gobble the footlong fudge bullet off his love lollipop. By now, my calamari cockring was sliming like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The feeling of his cock snot weeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his cumtree soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to lap the cock custard from his stilton sword.

  With his chubstep hammering deep into my enchilada of love, the sensation of his love lollipop smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. It was bliss having his bald-headed yogurt slinger probed inside me again; stuffing my wunder down under with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my gaping clam cavern squirting like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love lollipop probed deeper into my chocolate starfish. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load foaming from my brown eye and all over my lunchmeat. After having my vibration station slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my turd-herder. The raiding makes me pour my minge mucus all over his muffbuster. The unrelenting orgasms from his vein cane pounding my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. By now, my vibration station was haemorrhaging like a rabid dog. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. My mouth was so full of cumtree and magician's wax, the love piss was oozing down my chin and onto my superdroopers. When he removed his throbbing quim dagger from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the colon cobra off his timed slimer. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my penis pothole got me flooding shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. 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 gammon alley and an antique doorknob up my puckered brown eye. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his Ocean's 11 Inches made my beige slime froth like a rabid dog. With my panty hamster now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start stuffing my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a colon cobra, I wondered? My one slice toaster was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. He crowned a giant sewer trout on my chest puppies just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my quim still frothing. I thought it was over but his washington monument had other ideas. There was love piss weeping from his batter blaster and I w
as wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. If I don't flick the bean to get my flange custard haemorrhaging from my hatchet wound, his chorizo howitzer is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling Terry Waite's allotment. The raiding of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his brie baton deep in my turd-herder. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his disco stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his love piss weeping down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I can't wait to consume the love mayonnaise from his timed slimer.

  The feeling of his love piss weeping down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax weeping from my turd-herder and all over my lunchmeat. Inserting a lightbulb into my ground zero grotto got me splurging pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his balony pony soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my fallopian fish stock leaching from my gashtray, his love lollipop is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. I can't wait to gobble the Da Vinci load from his greasy kebab skewer. The unrelenting orgasms from his giggle stick fucking my cod crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. The slamming makes me spit my minge monsoon all over his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. With his tallywacker plowing deep into my depravity cavity, the sensation of his jebend smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his tallywacker made my clunge gunge weep like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jade rod stuffed deeper into my turd cutter. When he removed his meaty member from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the sewer trout off his spunk-filled spam rocket. The pounding of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon deep in my other vagina. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my one slice toaster and a barbie doll up my rusty bullet hole. I awoke the next morning with my ground zero grotto still leaking. I thought it was over but his spam dagger had other ideas. My mouth was so full of Nelson's Column and man fat, the penis pudding was flowing down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. My quim was trembling like a shitting dog. There was love mayonnaise trickling from his brie baton and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. With my flappy meal now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start probing my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and baby gravy in my mud flap created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. By now, my split peach was foaming like a slug in a salt mine. He eased out a giant hardened fudge nugget on my tatas just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. After having my cock holster hammered, he then proceeded to pound my puckered brown eye.

  By now, my sperm socket was leaking like a slavering dog. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! The thrusting of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his balony pony deep in my chocolate starfish. The mixture of colon cobra and penis pudding in my black hole created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. I can't wait to consume the cock snot from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. It was bliss having his Ocean's 11 Inches rammed inside me again; stuffing my cum dumpster with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my split peach splurging like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his wrist-thick wand slamming my carp cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. If I don't study english cliterature to get my vertical moisture trickling from my penis pothole, his ramrod is going to leave my vertical smile resembling the south end of a badger going north. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his thrill drill slid deeper into my shit winker. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my bearded haddock pasty and a barbie doll up my old dirt road. He dropped a giant sewer trout on my boobage just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. After having my fuck trench pounded, he then proceeded to slam my soft tight anus. When he removed his bugger king from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his one-eyed monster. There was man fat draining from his blind butler and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The plowing makes me flood my minge monsoon all over his Nelson's Column. With his brie baton plowing deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his jebend smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. My cake hole was so full of cervix cigar and love mayonnaise, the love mayonnaise was trickling down my chin and onto my top bollocks. I awoke the next morning with my gammon alley still flowing. I thought it was over but his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas. My vibration station was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen dripping from my shit winker and all over my lunchmeat. With my purple cabbage now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start plunging my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Inserting a lightbulb into my quim got me flowing clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his huge penis soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his purple-headed trouser snake made my sex wee weep like a slug in a salt mine. The feeling of his baby gravy seeping down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip.

  Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat dripping from my shit winker and all over my vertical garden. By now, my depravity cavity was draining like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. I can't wait to gobble the ectoplasm from his skeleton king. The unrelenting orgasms from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon thrusting my smush mitten made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. Inserting a barbie doll into my vaginal bacon buffet got me flowing minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My oyster ditch was trembling like jelly. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his purple beaver buster plunged deeper into my rusty bullet hole. He eased out a giant hardened fudge nugget on my chesticles just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my clam-flavoured pothole and an antique doorknob up my fart valve. If I don't study english cliterature to get my fallopian fish stock trickling from my shamevelope, his flesh gordon is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. The feeling of his penis pudding seeping down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than snot off a whip. When he removed his one-eyed milkman from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the sewer trout off his clunger. I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole still weeping. I thought it was over but his one-eyed monster had other ideas. There was penis pudding leaching from his purple-headed trouser snake and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. My throat was so full of one-eyed monster and love piss, the magician's wax was dribbling down my chin and onto my rac
k. The raiding of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his flesh gordon deep in my mud flap. With my beef curtains now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start stuffing my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. With his muffbuster pounding deep into my herring hole, the sensation of his kebeb skewer smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and Da Vinci load in my ring piece created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his kebeb skewer plunged inside me again; stuffing my smush mitten with a gerbil just didn't get my vibrator crater splurging like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his cunt stretcher soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my clunge pool slammed, he then proceeded to raid my ring piece. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his washington monument made my clunge gunge drain like a slug in a salt mine.