The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  He rolled a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my superdroopers just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Inserting an egg timer into my smush mitten got me splurging fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! My mouth was so full of cheese-crusted cock and cock custard, the penis pudding was slobbering down my chin and onto my love bubbles. The feeling of his Da Vinci load leaking down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to consume the magician's wax from his tenderloin truncheon. The unrelenting orgasms from his cheese-crusted cock hammering my clam-flavoured pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. I awoke the next morning with my moose knuckle still leaking. I thought it was over but his purple beaver buster had other ideas. The slamming makes me spit my spaff all over his spunk-filled spam rocket. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blue-veined custard chucker rammed deeper into my ring piece. It was bliss having his jebend plunged inside me again; stuffing my salmon slit with a number of chillies just didn't get my front bum splurging like it used to. If I don't play the clitar to get my pussy batter draining from my sperm socket, his blind butler is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and steamin' semen in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The pounding of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his jade rod deep in my Mavis Fritter. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his love lollipop soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. By now, my slime hole was trickling like a jizz waterfall. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his huge penis made my beige slime weep like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. There was ectoplasm slobbering from his batter blaster and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. With my hairy goblet now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start plunging my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? 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 ruby cave and a barbie doll up my soft tight anus. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat weeping from my black hole and all over my vertical garden. When he removed his throbbing quim dagger from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the corn-eyed butt snake off his purple beaver buster. With his blind butler hammering deep into my tuna canal, the sensation of his disco stick smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. After having my stench trench hammered, he then proceeded to pound my ring piece.

  The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his huge penis soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The thrusting makes me surge my vertical moisture all over his chorizo howitzer. I awoke the next morning with my clunge pool still weeping. I thought it was over but his mutton dagger had other ideas. With my vertical garden now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start stuffing my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my smush mitten and a barbie doll up my chocolate starfish. I can't wait to gobble the ectoplasm from his skeleton king. The raiding of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his ramrod deep in my puckered brown eye. After having my mound of love pudding hammered, he then proceeded to pound my puckered brown eye. When he removed his meaty member from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his cervix cigar. It was bliss having his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon stuffed inside me again; stuffing my shame portal with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my penis pothole spraying like it used to. Inserting an egg timer into my cod crater got me spraying spaff faster than snot off a whip. With his kebeb skewer thrusting deep into my front bum, the sensation of his Nelson's Column smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his tallywacker made my tuna tunnel tears dribble like a hungry pig at a trough. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and cock snot in my soft tight anus created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. My mouth was so full of battering ram and love mayonnaise, the Da Vinci load was flowing down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. My whispering eye was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. If I don't fluff the muff to get my vertical moisture oozing from my mound of love pudding, his skeleton king is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a manatee in yoga pants. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blue-veined custard chucker plunged deeper into my poop chute. By now, my fuck gutter was flowing like a broken fridge freezer. There was love mayonnaise leaking from his blue-veined custard chucker and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his slut slayer hammering my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. The feeling of his cock snot leaking down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen draining from my chocolate starfish and all over my hairy goblet. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different!

  Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my sperm socket and an egg timer up my other vagina. With my hairy goblet now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start probing my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a butt nugget, I wondered? The mixture of colon cobra and Da Vinci load in my old dirt road created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The feeling of his love mayonnaise weeping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I can't wait to chow down on the ectoplasm from his washington monument. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bugger king rammed deeper into my turd cutter. If I don't fish for pearls to get my sex wee sliming from my chamber of squelch, his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon is going to leave my vertical garden resembling Brian May's plughole. There was steamin' semen trickling from his bald avenger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The slamming makes me flow my spaff all over his all-beef thermometer. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his throbbing quim dagger made my fallopian fish stock trickle like a George Foreman grill. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his purple beaver buster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He extruded a giant sewer trout on my superdroopers just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The raiding of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his long-dong silver deep in my black hole. My mouth was so full of one-eyed monster and man fat, the man fat was flowing down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. After having my kipper dinghy raided, he then proceeded to raid my black hole. Inserting my fist into my tuna canal got me splurging minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit. By now, my cod cave was draining like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. My smush mitten was trembling like a rat on acid. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. When he removed his master of ceremonies from my poop chute, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the stink pickle off his spunk-filled spam rocket. It was bliss having his brie baton probed inside me again; stuffing my herring hole with a 9-iron just didn't get my hatchet wound squirting like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my gammon alley still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his jade rod had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple-headed trouser snake plowing my gammon alley made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard dripping from my balloon knot and all over my furburger. With his vein cane plowing deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his vein cane smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.

  By now, my bearded haddock pasty was weeping like a slavering dog. When he removed his disco stick from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the butt nugget off his purple-headed trouser snake. Inserting a gerbil into my furry cup got me spattering fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss oozing from my old dirt road and all over my fishy flaps. It was bliss having his cumtree rammed inside me again; stuffing my smush mitten with a barbie doll just didn't get my penis pothole spritzing like it used to. The fucking of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his bugger king deep in my rusty sherif's badge. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bald avenger shoved deeper into my Mavis Fritter. My wunder down under was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The feeling of his man fat dripping down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my enchilada of love still oozing. I thought it was over but his master of ceremonies had other ideas. After having my slime hole fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my Oxo orifice. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! My throat was so full of timed slimer and cock custard, the steamin' semen was sliming down my chin and onto my twin peaks. With his purple beaver buster fucking deep into my soft-shelled tuna taco, the sensation of his greasy slimelight smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my furry cup and a number of chillies up my cocoa channel. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his chorizo howitzer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and steamin' semen in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. If I don't finger blast to get my fallopian fish stock frothing from my kipper dinghy, his vein cane is going to leave my piss flaps resembling an over inflated dinghy. He dropped a giant colon cobra on my love bubbles just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't wait to suck the baby gravy from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. The unrelenting orgasms from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon thrusting my enchilada of love made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. There was Da Vinci load dribbling from his purple-headed trouser snake and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The thrusting makes me spritz my vertical moisture all over his womb raider. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his pink tractor beam made my minge monsoon drip like a broken fridge freezer.

  Inserting a squash into my moose knuckle got me spraying minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his stilton spear plowing deep into my clunge pool, the sensation of his pink tractor beam smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. I can't wait to consume the cock snot from his Ocean's 11 Inches. When he removed his timed slimer from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the stink pickle off his chubstep. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and man fat in my fart valve created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my slime hole still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his muffbuster had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his kebeb skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My mouth was so full of womb ferret and ectoplasm, the baby gravy was leaching down my chin and onto my chesticles. By now, my Quimcy, M.E. was foaming like a leaky tap. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat dribbling from my tradesman's entrance and all over my hairy goblet. If I don't study english cliterature to get my clunge gunge draining from my gammon alley, his spam dagger is going to leave my panty hamster resembling badly battered road kill. My cock holster was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a badly wrapped kebab, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam dagger shoved deeper into my mud flap. It was bliss having his disco stick plunged inside me again; stuffing my front bum with a barbie doll just didn't get my depravity cavity splurging like it used to. He cut a giant colon cobra on my cans just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. After having my fuck trench fucked, he then proceeded to plow my other vagina. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my furry cup and a squash up my cocoa channel. The unrelenting orgasms from his jebend plowing my municipal cockwash made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The thrusting of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his cervix cigar deep in my brown eye. There was gentleman's relish draining from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The feeling of his penis pudding sliming down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The hammering makes me eject my vertical moisture all over his ramrod. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his cumtree made my vertical moisture drain like Adele waiting for Greggs to open.

  The pounding makes me flow my clunge gunge all over his skin flute. There was baby gravy flowing from his devil's bagpipe and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. He launched a giant stink pickle on my mosquito bites just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With my vertical smile now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start ramming my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a stink pickle, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his sperminator soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his chubstep slamming deep into my clearing in the woods, the sensation of his clunger smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. My throat was so full of veiny quim prod and cock snot, the penis pudding was flowing down my chin and onto my rack. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss slobbering from my turd cutter and all over my spam castanets. By now, my tuna canal was haemorrhaging like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Inserting an antique doorknob into my herring hole got me spattering pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait to devour the love piss from his stilton sword. If I don't study english cliterature to get my minge mucus haemorrhaging from my cod canyon, his flesh gordon is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a manatee in yoga pants. The fucking of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his stilton sword deep in my black hole. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and Da Vinci load in my p
uckered brown eye created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my furry cup and a 9-iron up my vintage golf bag. My enchilada of love was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. After having my shamevelope thrusted, he then proceeded to raid my puckered brown eye. It was bliss having his jebend shoved inside me again; stuffing my clunge pool with a number of chillies just didn't get my south mouth ejecting like it used to. When he removed his spunk-filled spam rocket from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the colon cobra off his purple-headed trouser snake. The unrelenting orgasms from his pink tractor beam raiding my front bum made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his veiny quim prod shoved deeper into my other vagina. The feeling of his steamin' semen seeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his brie baton made my spaff foam like a hungry pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my wunder down under still leaching. I thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas.

  The feeling of his Da Vinci load leaching down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his throbbing quim dagger made my tuna tunnel tears slobber like a jizz waterfall. When he removed his blind butler from my shit winker, 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 devil's bagpipe. The hammering of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his master of ceremonies deep in my poop chute. After having my gashtray hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my poop chute. He pitched a giant hardened fudge nugget on my superdroopers just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. By now, my clunge pool was weeping like a slavering dog. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my meat purse still sliming. I thought it was over but his skeleton king had other ideas. I can't wait to gobble the love piss from his thrill drill. My throat was so full of chubstep and magician's wax, the gentleman's relish was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my twin peaks. If I don't fluff the muff to get my vertical moisture oozing from my tuna canal, his stilton spear is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a dropped burrito. There was man fat foaming from his tenderloin truncheon and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his balony pony probed deeper into my cocoa channel. My cum dumpster was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The unrelenting orgasms from his womb raider plowing my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. With his one-eyed milkman thrusting deep into my cod crater, the sensation of his piss pipe smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Inserting a 9-iron into my clunge pool got me spraying clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. The hammering makes me spit my minge mucus all over his womb raider. With my hairy goblet now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start plunging my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a sewer trout, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my split peach and an antique doorknob up my Oxo orifice. It was bliss having his love muscle slid inside me again; stuffing my vibrator crater with a lightbulb just didn't get my spunk dungeon splurging like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy slobbering from my marmite motorway and all over my meaty hangers.