The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  The pounding of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his sperminator deep in my Mavis Fritter. The unrelenting orgasms from his muffbuster slamming my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his gristle missile slid deeper into my ring piece. There was love mayonnaise slobbering from his ample cock and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. With his bald avenger slamming deep into my spunk dungeon, the sensation of his bald avenger smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my ruby cave got me flowing pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his master of ceremonies soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The plowing makes me squirt my clunge gunge all over his kebeb skewer. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his wensleydale wand made my fallopian fish stock seep like a rabid dog. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and cock snot in my fart valve created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I can't wait to suck the love piss from his mutton dagger. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax flowing from my poo pipe and all over my furburger. With my roast beef platter now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start sliding my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? If I don't finger blast to get my pussy batter leaching from my gashtray, his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon is going to leave my spam castanets resembling a motorway pileup. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my wizards sleeve and my fist up my balloon knot. The feeling of his ectoplasm slobbering down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now, my gashtray was trickling like a hungry pig at a trough. When he removed his piss pipe from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the footlong fudge bullet off his Ocean's 11 Inches. He crowned a giant toilet twinkie on my rack just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. It was bliss having his sperminator probed inside me again; stuffing my meat purse with my fist just didn't get my soft-shelled tuna taco flowing like it used to. After having my sperm socket fucked, he then proceeded to pound my ring piece. My gaping clam cavern was trembling like jelly. My cake hole was so full of turgid terror truncheon and love piss, the love piss was oozing down my chin and onto my sweater puppies.

  He rolled a giant footlong fudge bullet on my top bollocks just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my one slice toaster and a barbie doll up my rusty sherif's badge. The mixture of sewer trout and gentleman's relish in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. There was ectoplasm flowing from his long-dong silver and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load weeping from my rusty bullet hole and all over my fishy flaps. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my minge monsoon trickling from my calamari cockring, his womb ferret is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a sand blasted tomato. I can't wait to consume the man fat from his pink tractor beam. My cod canyon was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start ramming my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a stink pickle, I wondered? When he removed his greasy slimelight from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the corn-eyed butt snake off his veiny quim prod. The plowing of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his throbbing quim dagger deep in my fudge factory. Inserting a squash into my herring hole got me gushing pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. With his stilton spear pounding deep into my salmon slit, the sensation of his all-beef thermometer smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. After having my vibrator crater raided, he then proceeded to slam my ring piece. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his piss pipe rammed deeper into my balloon knot. The feeling of his ectoplasm dribbling down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now, my ground zero grotto was dripping like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. I awoke the next morning with my fuck gutter still slobbering. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his cunt plunger slamming my cod crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. It was bliss having his spunk-filled spam rocket shoved inside me again; stuffing my ground zero grotto with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my oyster ditch squirting like it used to. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! My throat was so full of stilton sword and man fat, the ectoplasm was draining down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. The thrusting makes me gush my pussy batter all over his turgid terror truncheon.

  The feeling of his creamy load sliming down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my split peach still oozing. I thought it was over but his master of ceremonies had other ideas. The raiding of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his cheese-crusted cock deep in my poo pipe. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard flowing from my chocolate starfish and all over my vertical smile. I can't wait to devour the love mayonnaise from his giggle stick. The fucking makes me spout my sex wee all over his flesh gordon. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. After having my meat purse hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my cocoa channel. With my flappy meal now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start probing my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a sewer trout, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my vibrator crater and a squash up my poo pipe. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his slut slayer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He copped a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my rack just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his pink tractor beam made my tuna tunnel tears seep like a slug in a salt mine. My mouth was so full of cumtree and man fat, the magician's wax was seeping down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. My cod canyon was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Inserting an egg timer into my enchilada of love got me spritzing shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his stilton spear stuffed inside me again; stuffing my smush mitten with a 9-iron just didn't get my front bum flowing like it used to. There was magician's wax frothing from his turgid terror truncheon and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my vertical moisture slobbering from my chlamydia canal, his tenderloin truncheon is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a badly wrapped kebab. When he removed his huge penis from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow d
own on the butt nugget off his mutton dagger. The unrelenting orgasms from his cunt stretcher hammering my tampon tunnel made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! By now, my clunge pool was dripping like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. With his turgid terror truncheon plowing deep into my herring hole, the sensation of his wrist-thick wand smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tenderloin truncheon plunged deeper into my poo pipe.

  Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen oozing from my mud flap and all over my panty hamster. I awoke the next morning with my hatchet wound still sliming. I thought it was over but his cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his long-dong silver soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam javelin thrusting my meat purse made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. My mouth was so full of love muscle and baby gravy, the man fat was seeping down my chin and onto my chest puppies. If I don't study english cliterature to get my minge monsoon dribbling from my tampon tunnel, his veiny quim prod is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. By now, my salmon slit was foaming like a jizz waterfall. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tallywacker plunged deeper into my shit winker. There was cock snot draining from his chorizo howitzer and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. I can't wait to lap the ectoplasm from his one-eyed monster. After having my one slice toaster slammed, he then proceeded to pound my soft tight anus. The feeling of his magician's wax leaching down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Inserting an antique doorknob into my stench trench got me spraying fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of sewer trout and love mayonnaise in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The pounding makes me spritz my tuna tunnel tears all over his spunk-filled spam rocket. It was bliss having his meaty member probed inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia canal with a barbie doll just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet spritzing like it used to. He cut a giant toilet twinkie on my droopies just so he could lap 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 15" spiked vibrator in my south mouth and a barbie doll up my old dirt road. My depravity cavity was trembling like a shitting dog. With my vertical smile now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start sliding my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The raiding of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his love muscle deep in my poop chute. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! When he removed his muffbuster from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his spam javelin. With his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon pounding deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his love lollipop smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.

  My clunge pool was trembling like a rat on acid. The fucking of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his master of ceremonies deep in my poo pipe. After having my whispering eye hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my marmite motorway. With his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus pounding deep into my chamber of squelch, the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. He cut a giant stink pickle on my rack just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my beige slime slobbering from my carp cavity, his jade rod is going to leave my vertical smile resembling that bathroom door in The Shining. There was Da Vinci load oozing from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot flowing from my ring piece and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. My cake hole was so full of purple-headed trouser snake and magician's wax, the magician's wax was leaching down my chin and onto my cans. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cervix cigar rammed deeper into my black hole. It was bliss having his one-eyed milkman slid inside me again; stuffing my quim with a 9-iron just didn't get my fuck gutter spattering like it used to. When he removed his womb raider from my black hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the Mr. Hanky off his cunt plunger. The unrelenting orgasms from his skin flute raiding my fuck trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his sperminator made my beige slime flow like a slug in a salt mine. With my meaty hangers now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start plunging my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a colon cobra, I wondered? Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! The pounding makes me surge my minge monsoon all over his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my ruby cave and a gerbil up my brown eye. The mixture of sewer trout and steamin' semen in my shit winker created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my chlamydia canal still foaming. I thought it was over but his muffbuster had other ideas. I can't wait to chow down on the cock custard from his skin flute. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The feeling of his love piss foaming down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now, my hot pocket was dribbling like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his all-beef thermometer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.

  He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The feeling of his love mayonnaise sliming down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was love mayonnaise draining from his long-dong silver and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Inserting my fist into my vibration station got me splurging vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his huge penis shoved deeper into my black hole. My mouth was so full of purple beaver buster and creamy load, the cock snot was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my cans. He copped a giant butt nugget on my chesticles just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. My furry cup was trembling like a shitting dog. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish oozing from my vintage golf bag and all over my panty hamster. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his devil's bagpipe soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his jebend 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 devour the hardened fudge nugget off his skin flute. It was bliss having his all-beef thermometer probed inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with a squash just didn't get my smush mitten surging like it used to. With my vertical smile now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start probing my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? After having my fuck trench slammed, he then proceeded to thrust my Mavis Fritter. Hours of slamming like this
would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! The mixture of Mr. Hanky and magician's wax in my old dirt road created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my frilling pink golf bag still slobbering. I thought it was over but his muffbuster had other ideas. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my chamber of squelch and an egg timer up my puckered brown eye. The fucking of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his cream reaper deep in my Oxo orifice. The plowing makes me splurge my spaff all over his throbbing quim dagger. I can't wait to suck the steamin' semen from his mutton dagger. If I don't buff the muff to get my tuna tunnel tears seeping from my cod cave, his bald-headed yogurt slinger is going to leave my piss flaps resembling badly battered road kill. With his cervix cigar fucking deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his wrist-thick wand smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his one-eyed monster made my pussy batter ooze like a broken coffee maker. By now, my hatchet wound was draining like a slug in a salt mine.