The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  There was baby gravy haemorrhaging from his love muscle and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. My gashtray was trembling like a rat on acid. It was bliss having his meaty member shoved inside me again; stuffing my chamber of squelch with a squash just didn't get my cock holster splurging like it used to. The hammering of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his timed slimer deep in my cocoa channel. By now, my birth cannon was leaking like a rabid dog. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my vibration station still dripping. I thought it was over but his blue-veined custard chucker had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his giggle stick slid deeper into my poop chute. With his piss pipe pounding deep into my quim, the sensation of his womb ferret smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my spaff sliming from my depravity cavity, his flesh gordon is going to leave my flappy meal resembling Terry Waite's allotment. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my depravity cavity and an antique doorknob up my brown eye. When he removed his vein cane from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the butt nugget off his thrill drill. He pinched off a giant stink pickle on my sweater puppies just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The feeling of his man fat draining down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his spunk-filled spam rocket made my sex wee drain like a leaky tap. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding flowing from my mud flap and all over my flappy meal. After having my kipper dinghy raided, he then proceeded to fuck my rusty bullet hole. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam javelin raiding my split peach made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his love lollipop soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to lap the love piss from his cunt plunger. With my beef curtains now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start ramming my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Inserting a lightbulb into my enchilada of love got me gushing vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. The raiding makes me spit my minge monsoon all over his thrill drill. The mixture of colon cobra and love piss in my balloon knot created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different!

  My throat was so full of greasy kebab skewer and baby gravy, the cock snot was leaking down my chin and onto my chesticles. It was bliss having his long-dong silver rammed inside me again; stuffing my cum dumpster with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my cod canyon pouring like it used to. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his cumtree slamming my fuck gutter made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. My bearded haddock pasty was trembling like jelly. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his purple-headed trouser snake made my flange custard seep like a jizz waterfall. When he removed his veiny quim prod from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the sewer trout off his jade rod. 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 ruby cave and my fist up my cocoa channel. There was ectoplasm haemorrhaging from his spam dagger and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. He crowned a giant toilet twinkie on my fiery biscuits just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his cheese-crusted cock soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The slamming makes me spit my shrimp sap all over his blind butler. Inserting a number of chillies into my cock holster got me splurging spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and love mayonnaise in my Oxo orifice created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The feeling of his ectoplasm haemorrhaging down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. After having my whispering eye fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my puckered brown eye. I can't wait to lap the cock snot from his cheese-crusted cock. With his battering ram raiding deep into my tampon tunnel, the sensation of his purple beaver buster smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my sex wee frothing from my vibration station, his love lollipop is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. With my piss flaps now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start probing my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still trickling. I thought it was over but his master of ceremonies had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm draining from my Oxo orifice and all over my purple cabbage. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his meaty member probed deeper into my old dirt road. By now, my municipal cockwash was oozing like a leaky tap.

  I awoke the next morning with my cod cave still leaking. I thought it was over but his slut slayer had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ramrod rammed deeper into my cocoa channel. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! I can't wait to devour the love piss from his washington monument. The pounding of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his bald-headed yogurt slinger deep in my rusty bullet hole. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my sex wee leak like a broken fridge freezer. When he removed his giggle stick from my ring piece, 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 tenderloin truncheon. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my cod canyon and a 15" spiked vibrator up my mud flap. The feeling of his steamin' semen foaming down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his devil's bagpipe slid inside me again; stuffing my cum dumpster with a 9-iron just didn't get my whispering eye surging like it used to. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my vibration station got me surging minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My throat was so full of one-eyed milkman and magician's wax, the cock snot was slobbering down my chin and onto my twin peaks. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and Da Vinci load in my puckered brown eye created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He rolled a giant toilet twinkie on my tatas just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. There was gentleman's relish leaking from his bald avenger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his womb raider slamming my herring hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm haemorrhaging from my poop chute and all over my clap flaps. By now, my wizards sleeve was weeping like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. If I don't finger blast to get my tuna tunnel tears seeping from my salmon slit, his cumtree is g
oing to leave my piss flaps resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. My spunk dungeon was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. With his purple-headed trouser snake hammering deep into my shame portal, the sensation of his love lollipop smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The fucking makes me spritz my beige slime all over his ample cock. With my panty hamster now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start shoving my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a butt nugget, I wondered? After having my municipal cockwash pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my chocolate starfish.

  I awoke the next morning with my spunk dungeon still foaming. I thought it was over but his greasy kebab skewer had other ideas. The feeling of his penis pudding weeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With my flappy meal now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start shoving my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? My south mouth was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The thrusting makes me gush my pussy batter all over his purple-headed trouser snake. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! After having my enchilada of love plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my turd cutter. If I don't buff the muff to get my spaff weeping from my south mouth, his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a horse's collar. The thrusting of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his disco stick deep in my marmite motorway. There was cock snot haemorrhaging from his washington monument and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and love piss in my turd cutter created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. He rolled a giant Mr. Hanky on my twin peaks just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. Inserting a gerbil into my tuna canal got me spritzing vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his piss pipe. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ramrod probed deeper into my poo pipe. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot dribbling from my soft tight anus and all over my panty hamster. With his flesh gordon hammering deep into my cod crater, the sensation of his stilton spear smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my sex wee drip like a hungry pig at a trough. My cake hole was so full of greasy kebab skewer and man fat, the cock snot was trickling down my chin and onto my breasticles. 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 shamevelope and an antique doorknob up my mud flap. It was bliss having his stilton sword stuffed inside me again; stuffing my shamevelope with an antique doorknob just didn't get my cod canyon pouring like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his huge penis plowing my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. When he removed his master of ceremonies from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the footlong fudge bullet off his tenderloin truncheon. By now, my soft-shelled tuna taco was leaching like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls.

  He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The plowing makes me eject my beige slime all over his blind butler. My spunk dungeon was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I awoke the next morning with my quim still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his tenderloin truncheon had other ideas. I can't wait to devour the love piss from his jebend. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his spunk-filled spam rocket soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my tuna tunnel tears flowing from my hot pocket, his cunt stretcher is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my herring hole and an antique doorknob up my vintage golf bag. My throat was so full of pink tractor beam and creamy load, the baby gravy was weeping down my chin and onto my cans. The raiding of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his thrill drill deep in my rusty bullet hole. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword pounding my furry cup made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. The mixture of butt nugget and creamy load in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. With my furburger now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start stuffing my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? After having my chlamydia canal hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my brown mile. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his kebeb skewer rammed deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen dribbling from my balloon knot and all over my lunchmeat. With his purple beaver buster fucking deep into my clunge pool, the sensation of his stilton sword smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his vein cane made my clunge gunge foam like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. It was bliss having his clunger slid inside me again; stuffing my cod crater with a barbie doll just didn't get my hatchet wound gushing like it used to. There was love mayonnaise weeping from his meaty member and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. He crowned a giant toilet twinkie on my sweater puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. The feeling of his Da Vinci load frothing down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than snot off a whip. When he removed his brie baton from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. By now, my whispering eye was trickling like a leaky tap.

  If I don't play the clitar to get my spaff dribbling from my mound of love pudding, his womb ferret is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. The hammering of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his giggle stick deep in my brown mile. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his cunt plunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his skeleton king hammering deep into my cod crater, the sensation of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my furry cup and an antique doorknob up my puckered brown eye. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jade rod slid deeper into my brown mile. The unrelenting orgasms from his huge penis plowing my fuck trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. It was bliss having his purple beaver buster slid inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with an antique doorknob just didn't get my soft-shelled tuna taco flowing like it used to. My cake hole was so full of Nelson's Column and cock custard, the penis pudding was trickling down my chin and onto my twin peaks. Inserting a barbie doll into my carp cavity got me surging vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip. My vibration station was trembling like a shitting dog. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! By now, my furry cup was dribbling like a broken coffee maker. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax leaching from my Oxo orifice and all over my furburger. The raiding makes me flood my flange custard all over his spam dagger. I awoke the next morning with my fuck trench still slobbering. I thought it was over but his chubstep had other ideas. The feeling of his penis pudding seeping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his timed slimer made my vertical moisture leach like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. He blasted a giant stink pickle on my fiery biscuits just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. There was cock custard dripping from his meaty member and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. With my velcro triangle now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start shoving my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a butt nugget, I wondered? When he removed his clunger from my brown mile, 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 bald avenger. I can't wait to consume the ectoplasm from his disco stick. After having my wizards sleeve thrusted, he then proceeded to plow my rusty bullet hole.