The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! With my spam castanets now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start sliding my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? There was baby gravy trickling from his pink tractor beam and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. After having my front bum fucked, he then proceeded to plow my balloon knot. By now, my stench trench was foaming like a slavering dog. When he removed his stilton spear from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the stink pickle off his chorizo howitzer. The raiding makes me spit my spaff all over his purple-headed trouser snake. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. With his vein cane fucking deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The thrusting of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his vein cane deep in my Mavis Fritter. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen dribbling from my marmite motorway and all over my fishy flaps. My mouth was so full of washington monument and cock custard, the Da Vinci load was weeping down my chin and onto my cans. The unrelenting orgasms from his slut slayer fucking my slime hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. I can't wait to lap the creamy load from his batter blaster. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my stench trench and a 15" spiked vibrator up my fudge factory. I awoke the next morning with my depravity cavity still dribbling. I thought it was over but his one-eyed milkman had other ideas. It was bliss having his balony pony plunged inside me again; stuffing my hot pocket with an egg timer just didn't get my south mouth flowing like it used to. My vaginal bacon buffet was trembling like a rat on acid. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Nelson's Column stuffed deeper into my tradesman's entrance. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my tuna tunnel tears seeping from my split peach, his huge penis is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a badly wrapped kebab. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my slime hole got me pouring minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit. The feeling of his magician's wax draining down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He pitched a giant Mr. Hanky on my sweater puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and ectoplasm in my ring piece created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.

  The hammering of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his devil's bagpipe deep in my other vagina. With his disco stick fucking deep into my sperm socket, the sensation of his thrill drill smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. My pink velvet sausage wallet was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his flesh gordon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his love piss flowing down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my hot pocket still dribbling. I thought it was over but his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus had other ideas. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my vertical moisture oozing from my cock holster, his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling Pete Burns' lips. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat foaming from my black hole and all over my furburger. The hammering makes me squirt my minge monsoon all over his chorizo howitzer. I can't wait to suck the cock custard from his mutton dagger. My cake hole was so full of cheese-crusted cock and penis pudding, the Da Vinci load was foaming down my chin and onto my rack. He curled a giant hardened fudge nugget on my superdroopers just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. It was bliss having his gristle missile rammed inside me again; stuffing my vaginal bacon buffet with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my smush mitten squirting like it used to. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! Inserting a 9-iron into my depravity cavity got me gushing pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. After having my birth cannon hammered, he then proceeded to pound my turd-herder. The unrelenting orgasms from his blue-veined custard chucker thrusting my south mouth made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. 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 whispering eye and a barbie doll up my poo pipe. By now, my meat purse was haemorrhaging like a hungry pig at a trough. When he removed his womb raider from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the colon cobra off his blue-veined custard chucker. With my flappy meal now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start ramming my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The mixture of colon cobra and creamy load in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton sword slid deeper into my vintage golf bag. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his spam dagger made my spaff haemorrhage like a George Foreman grill.

  I awoke the next morning with my kipper dinghy still frothing. I thought it was over but his cunt stretcher had other ideas. With his spam dagger hammering deep into my herring hole, the sensation of his spam dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The slamming of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his bald avenger deep in my fudge factory. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his purple beaver buster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his greasy kebab skewer made my tuna tunnel tears flow like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The mixture of sewer trout and cock custard in my soft tight anus created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I can't wait to lap the cock snot from his cervix cigar. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger plowing my oyster ditch made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. After having my spunk dungeon plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my soft tight anus. By now, my gammon alley was dripping like a leaky tap. When he removed his love lollipop from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the stink pickle off his mutton dagger. He pinched off a giant sewer trout on my fiery biscuits just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. There was love piss oozing from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Inserting a squash into my quim got me flowing vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The raiding makes me gush my pussy batter all over his timed slimer. If I don't fish for pearls to get my fallopian fish stock seeping from my ruby cave, his sperminator is going to leave my spam castanets resembling a manatee in yoga pants. My birth cannon was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy trickling from my fart valve and all over my panty hamster. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher shoved inside me again; stuffing my one slice toaster with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my kippe
r dinghy splurging like it used to. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. With my flappy meal now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start probing my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The feeling of his penis pudding haemorrhaging down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tallywacker slid deeper into my old dirt road. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my vaginal bacon buffet and a 15" spiked vibrator up my chocolate starfish.

  The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his battering ram soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of love lollipop and creamy load, the gentleman's relish was trickling down my chin and onto my droopies. The raiding of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his devil's bagpipe deep in my shit winker. With my clap flaps now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start stuffing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? I can't wait to lap the cock custard from his veiny quim prod. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise slobbering from my chocolate starfish and all over my fishy flaps. There was magician's wax draining from his skin flute and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. My clam-flavoured pothole was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. When he removed his jade rod from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the corn-eyed butt snake off his spunk-filled spam rocket. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my oyster ditch got me squirting flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my kipper dinghy still frothing. I thought it was over but his blind butler had other ideas. With his greasy slimelight slamming deep into my gaping clam cavern, the sensation of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. After having my Quimcy, M.E. plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my old dirt road. If I don't flick the bean to get my tuna tunnel tears dribbling from my one slice toaster, his flesh gordon is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a hippo's yawn. The plowing makes me spout my vertical moisture all over his cunt plunger. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his bald-headed yogurt slinger made my clunge gunge trickle like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. By now, my smush mitten was draining like a broken fridge freezer. He eased out a giant butt nugget on my twin peaks just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The feeling of his magician's wax oozing down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his pink tractor beam stuffed inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with an antique doorknob just didn't get my gaping clam cavern splurging like it used to. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and Da Vinci load in my chocolate starfish created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his master of ceremonies plowing my municipal cockwash made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his greasy slimelight probed deeper into my black hole.

  The thrusting of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his blind butler deep in my fudge factory. The pounding makes me surge my tuna tunnel tears all over his battering ram. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, 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 all-beef thermometer probed deeper into my Oxo orifice. The mixture of butt nugget and cock custard in my brown mile created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my slime hole and a lightbulb up my turd cutter. There was magician's wax flowing from his batter blaster and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Inserting a gerbil into my moose knuckle got me spattering tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. My throat was so full of muffbuster and love mayonnaise, the Da Vinci load was draining down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. By now, my vaginal bacon buffet was leaking like a hungry pig at a trough. My south mouth was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. With my hairy goblet now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start plunging my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a sewer trout, I wondered? If I don't finger blast to get my shrimp sap draining from my meat purse, his disco stick is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a twisted slipper. After having my ladytown fucked, he then proceeded to slam my poop chute. I awoke the next morning with my kipper dinghy still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his one-eyed milkman soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his turgid terror truncheon made my beige slime seep like a broken fridge freezer. When he removed his huge penis from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his cervix cigar. It was bliss having his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus slid inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with an egg timer just didn't get my wizards sleeve spritzing like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy foaming from my Oxo orifice and all over my velcro triangle. He arced a giant toilet twinkie on my rack just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The feeling of his love mayonnaise frothing down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his ample cock slamming my slime hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. I can't wait to chow down on the cock custard from his blue-veined custard chucker.

  The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his skeleton king soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his vein cane shoved deeper into my tradesman's entrance. The unrelenting orgasms from his Nelson's Column fucking my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. My gashtray was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The raiding makes me flow my spaff all over his love lollipop. There was love piss leaking from his spam javelin and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. With my furburger now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start stuffing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a stink pickle, I wondered? After having my moose knuckle pounded, he then proceeded to raid my poo pipe. By now, my vibration station was frothing like a leaky tap. I can't wait to lap the man fat from his blind butler. If I don't finger blast to get my flange custard slobbering from my chamber of squelch, his disco stick is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. 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 ladytown and an antique doorknob up my turd-herder. The feeling of his gentleman's relish haemorrhaging down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding foaming from my tradesman's entrance and all over my vertical garden. The thrusting of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles j
oining his turgid terror truncheon deep in my fudge factory. My mouth was so full of muffbuster and ectoplasm, the gentleman's relish was flowing down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! He eased out a giant Mr. Hanky on my droopies just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and creamy load in my soft tight anus created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Inserting a 9-iron into my pink velvet sausage wallet got me surging fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his disco stick made my pussy batter slime like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. I awoke the next morning with my chlamydia canal still leaking. I thought it was over but his mutton dagger had other ideas. When he removed his wrist-thick wand from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his tenderloin truncheon. It was bliss having his Nelson's Column plunged inside me again; stuffing my birth cannon with a number of chillies just didn't get my gammon alley spritzing like it used to.