The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load weeping from my chocolate starfish and all over my velcro triangle. It was bliss having his cream reaper stuffed inside me again; stuffing my fuck gutter with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my wizards sleeve flooding like it used to. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock snot in my other vagina created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The raiding of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his brie baton deep in my tradesman's entrance. I awoke the next morning with my gaping clam cavern still slobbering. I thought it was over but his greasy slimelight had other ideas. He pitched a giant sewer trout on my cans just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my shrimp sap weeping from my front bum, his blue-veined custard chucker is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. There was cock snot trickling from his balony pony and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. I can't wait to gobble the penis pudding from his turgid terror truncheon. The unrelenting orgasms from his veiny quim prod fucking my clam-flavoured pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. When he removed his spunk-filled spam rocket 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 hardened fudge nugget off his mutton dagger. After having my cod cave raided, he then proceeded to fuck my cocoa channel. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my carp cavity got me spattering pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his womb ferret made my pussy batter slobber like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. My mouth was so full of disco stick and cock snot, the man fat was leaching down my chin and onto my chesticles. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! By now, my municipal cockwash was foaming like a hungry pig at a trough. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his love mayonnaise dribbling down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his thrill drill probed deeper into my mud flap. My gammon alley was trembling like jelly. With his veiny quim prod fucking deep into my gaping clam cavern, the sensation of his gristle missile smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. With my piss flaps now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start shoving my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my clam-flavoured pothole and my fist up my marmite motorway.

  My fuck gutter was trembling like a shitting dog. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his spunk-filled spam rocket made my clunge gunge leak like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The feeling of his love mayonnaise leaching down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my quim still dribbling. I thought it was over but his cream reaper had other ideas. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my minge mucus weeping from my hatchet wound, his gristle missile is going to leave my spam castanets resembling Brian May's plughole. After having my chamber of squelch plowed, he then proceeded to slam my balloon knot. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard dripping from my shit winker and all over my meaty hangers. When he removed his jebend from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the colon cobra off his meaty member. By now, my kipper dinghy was draining like a jizz waterfall. I can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his womb raider. With his Ocean's 11 Inches slamming deep into my salmon slit, the sensation of his giggle stick smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. My mouth was so full of tallywacker and gentleman's relish, the magician's wax was leaking down my chin and onto my superdroopers. He dropped a giant toilet twinkie on my droopies just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The thrusting makes me spray my pussy batter all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my chamber of squelch and a gerbil up my marmite motorway. There was penis pudding dripping from his Ocean's 11 Inches and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald-headed yogurt slinger slamming my enchilada of love made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The slamming of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his cumtree deep in my fudge factory. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his battering ram probed deeper into my vintage golf bag. It was bliss having his slut slayer probed inside me again; stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with an egg timer just didn't get my clam-flavoured pothole ejecting like it used to. The mixture of toilet twinkie and steamin' semen in my fudge factory created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his timed slimer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my meaty hangers now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start stuffing my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered?

  My mouth was so full of chorizo howitzer and baby gravy, the gentleman's relish was leaking down my chin and onto my breasticles. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his slut slayer made my shrimp sap froth like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The fucking of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his veiny quim prod deep in my old dirt road. It was bliss having his slut slayer rammed inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with a gerbil just didn't get my gammon alley spouting like it used to. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and gentleman's relish in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss frothing from my vintage golf bag and all over my spam castanets. I awoke the next morning with my whispering eye still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cheese-crusted cock shoved deeper into my mud flap. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! With my piss flaps now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start shoving my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a sewer trout, I wondered? He blasted a giant sewer trout on my twin peaks just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. There was gentleman's relish sliming from his turgid terror truncheon and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. I can't wait to devour the cock snot from his veiny quim prod. With his spunk-filled spam rocket pounding deep into my soft-shelled tuna taco, the sensation of his one-eyed monster smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. My fuck gutter was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The fucking makes me squirt my vertical moisture all over his batter blaster. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton spear slamming my salmon slit made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. If I don't study english cliterature to get my pussy batter oozing from my one slice toaster, his skin flute is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a
clown's pocket. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his Nelson's Column soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my bearded haddock pasty thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my balloon knot. By now, my vaginal bacon buffet was weeping like a broken coffee maker. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my chamber of squelch and an antique doorknob up my rusty sherif's badge. Inserting a barbie doll into my fuck trench got me ejecting tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. The feeling of his magician's wax haemorrhaging down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week.

  Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! When he removed his cheese-crusted cock from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the sewer trout off his piss pipe. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax leaching from my tradesman's entrance and all over my furburger. With my fishy flaps now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start ramming my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my carp cavity got me spraying vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his bald avenger made my flange custard flow like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his washington monument rammed deeper into my shit winker. The feeling of his ectoplasm flowing down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his purple-headed trouser snake soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my municipal cockwash still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his stilton sword had other ideas. After having my cum dumpster slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my mud flap. With his greasy kebab skewer pounding deep into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his wensleydale wand smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. My chlamydia canal was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and love piss in my poop chute created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The fucking makes me spritz my flange custard all over his throbbing quim dagger. If I don't tune the tuna to get my pussy batter trickling from my mound of love pudding, his womb raider is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a horse's collar. The hammering of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his ample cock deep in my marmite motorway. There was baby gravy draining from his muffbuster and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. By now, my herring hole was oozing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my hatchet wound and a barbie doll up my balloon knot. My throat was so full of cheese-crusted cock and steamin' semen, the man fat was slobbering down my chin and onto my cans. It was bliss having his long-dong silver rammed inside me again; stuffing my quim with an egg timer just didn't get my cod canyon spraying like it used to. He extruded a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my sweater puppies just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. The unrelenting orgasms from his batter blaster hammering my vibration station made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World.

  The feeling of his love mayonnaise oozing down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My throat was so full of jade rod and creamy load, the cock snot was slobbering down my chin and onto my twin peaks. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his gristle missile rammed deeper into my brown eye. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his mutton dagger made my tuna tunnel tears foam like a slavering dog. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard leaching from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my meaty hangers. By now, my furry cup was oozing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. When he removed his throbbing quim dagger from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the footlong fudge bullet off his long-dong silver. With his cunt plunger fucking deep into my stench trench, the sensation of his spam dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my depravity cavity and a gerbil up my mud flap. The unrelenting orgasms from his blue-veined custard chucker fucking my pink velvet sausage wallet made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. My hatchet wound was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. There was man fat dribbling from his bald avenger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I can't wait to suck the steamin' semen from his womb ferret. With my meaty hangers now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start sliding my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The thrusting of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his clunger deep in my soft tight anus. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! If I don't play the clitar to get my fallopian fish stock weeping from my stench trench, his flesh gordon is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a clown's pocket. I awoke the next morning with my vibration station still weeping. I thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas. It was bliss having his Ocean's 11 Inches slid inside me again; stuffing my shamevelope with my fist just didn't get my ladytown flooding like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his muffbuster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my vaginal bacon buffet got me surging minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. After having my clam-flavoured pothole hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my other vagina. He extruded a giant footlong fudge bullet on my mammaries just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and steamin' semen in my poo pipe created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of.

  If I don't strum the banjo to get my pussy batter seeping from my mound of love pudding, his jebend is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. By now, my hot pocket was seeping like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The raiding of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his blind butler deep in my chocolate starfish. The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy kebab skewer hammering my gaping clam cavern made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my smush mitten and my fist up my old dirt road. When he removed his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the butt nugget off his thrill drill. After having my fuck trench plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my fart valve. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise frothing from my brown mile and all over my flappy meal. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps lookin
g like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his thrill drill made my flange custard drain like a rabid dog. My pink velvet sausage wallet was trembling like a rat on acid. With his jebend thrusting deep into my slime hole, the sensation of his love muscle smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. With my purple cabbage now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start shoving my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his veiny quim prod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his blue-veined custard chucker shoved inside me again; stuffing my ground zero grotto with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my front bum spouting like it used to. I can't wait to gobble the Da Vinci load from his brie baton. The feeling of his magician's wax dribbling down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My cake hole was so full of mutton dagger and love piss, the baby gravy was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my chesticles. The hammering makes me spray my tuna tunnel tears all over his blind butler. I awoke the next morning with my herring hole still oozing. I thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas. Inserting a lightbulb into my meat purse got me flooding shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. There was man fat leaching from his jade rod and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus shoved deeper into my mud flap. The mixture of stink pickle and Da Vinci load in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of.