The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  The raiding of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his mutton dagger deep in my balloon knot. My tampon tunnel was trembling like a shitting dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his turgid terror truncheon hammering deep into my municipal cockwash, the sensation of his cunt stretcher smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my oyster ditch and my fist up my Mavis Fritter. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise leaking from my fudge factory and all over my furburger. By now, my wizards sleeve was frothing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! After having my south mouth pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my marmite motorway. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple-headed trouser snake raiding my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. It was bliss having his tenderloin truncheon plunged inside me again; stuffing my vibrator crater with my fist just didn't get my municipal cockwash flooding like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my bearded haddock pasty still draining. I thought it was over but his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas. My cake hole was so full of blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and love piss, the creamy load was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my droopies. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his jebend made my minge mucus slobber like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. If I don't study english cliterature to get my tuna tunnel tears frothing from my frilling pink golf bag, his cream reaper is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. With my roast beef platter now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start shoving my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a toilet twinkie, I wondered? When he removed his cunt stretcher from my Mavis Fritter, 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 sperminator. I can't wait to gobble the cock snot from his mutton dagger. He eased out a giant Mr. Hanky on my droopies just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton spear slid deeper into my shit winker. The mixture of colon cobra and penis pudding in my brown eye created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. There was cock snot seeping from his chorizo howitzer and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The feeling of his creamy load leaking down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The thrusting makes me spit my vertical moisture all over his long-dong silver. Inserting a squash into my hatchet wound got me spraying beige slime faster than snot off a whip.

  By now, my cod canyon was weeping like a leaky tap. The feeling of his Da Vinci load sliming down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his bald avenger pounding deep into my hatchet wound, the sensation of his jade rod smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his chorizo howitzer shoved deeper into my other vagina. There was man fat draining from his tallywacker and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy sliming from my brown eye and all over my clap flaps. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his timed slimer 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 one-eyed milkman made my spaff foam like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. I can't wait to chow down on the gentleman's relish from his wensleydale wand. My throat was so full of stilton sword and cock snot, the love piss was leaching down my chin and onto my droopies. After having my gammon alley raided, he then proceeded to raid my cocoa channel. The slamming of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his greasy slimelight deep in my tradesman's entrance. I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring still foaming. I thought it was over but his giggle stick had other ideas. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my beige slime frothing from my fuck gutter, his cumtree is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling the Japanese flag. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my wizards sleeve and a barbie doll up my other vagina. When he removed his gristle missile from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the corn-eyed butt snake off his timed slimer. My fuck gutter was trembling like a rat on acid. The unrelenting orgasms from his balony pony fucking my depravity cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! It was bliss having his mutton dagger plunged inside me again; stuffing my front bum with a lightbulb just didn't get my calamari cockring gushing like it used to. He blasted a giant stink pickle on my tatas just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and creamy load in my balloon knot created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Inserting a squash into my cod cave got me spraying shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start ramming my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The raiding makes me spray my shrimp sap all over his master of ceremonies.

  He extruded a giant stink pickle on my rack just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. My ladytown was trembling like a rat on acid. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my spaff weeping from my wunder down under, his slut slayer is going to leave my vertical smile resembling Terry Waite's allotment. The feeling of his penis pudding dripping down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. With his chorizo howitzer fucking deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. I can't wait to devour the ectoplasm from his Ocean's 11 Inches. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm haemorrhaging from my poo pipe and all over my meaty hangers. The thrusting of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his chubstep deep in my poo pipe. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his cunt plunger made my beige slime dribble like a leaky tap. By now, my penis pothole was slobbering like a slug in a salt mine. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple-headed trouser snake hammering my clearing in the woods 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 kebeb skewer shoved deeper into my Mavis Fritter. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my split peach and a 9-iron up my other vagina. There was man fat frothing from his one-eyed milkman and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! With my lunchmeat now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start ramming my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? It was bliss having his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon probed inside me again; stuffing my split peach with a lightbulb just didn't get my depravity cavity squirting like it used to. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. When he removed his vein cane from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fud
ge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his disco stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My cake hole was so full of kebeb skewer and magician's wax, the cock snot was sliming down my chin and onto my breasticles. The mixture of sewer trout and man fat in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Inserting a 9-iron into my pink velvet sausage wallet got me spraying fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my municipal cockwash still slobbering. I thought it was over but his timed slimer had other ideas. The fucking makes me spritz my spaff all over his ramrod.

  My cod cave was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I awoke the next morning with my vaginal bacon buffet still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had other ideas. There was steamin' semen dripping from his vein cane and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. 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. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my minge mucus slobbering from my fuck trench, his wensleydale wand is going to leave my spam castanets resembling Terry Waite's allotment. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his pink tractor beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his greasy kebab skewer made my spaff seep like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and cock custard in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. When he removed his muffbuster from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the toilet twinkie off his balony pony. Inserting an antique doorknob into my mound of love pudding got me spritzing sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The unrelenting orgasms from his blue-veined custard chucker plowing my tampon tunnel made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. With his slut slayer hammering deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his jade rod smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my vaginal bacon buffet and a 9-iron up my fart valve. With my meaty hangers now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start ramming my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? After having my carp cavity pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my soft tight anus. It was bliss having his flesh gordon plunged inside me again; stuffing my south mouth with a lightbulb just didn't get my enchilada of love splurging like it used to. My cake hole was so full of spam dagger and love piss, the magician's wax was seeping down my chin and onto my tatas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his wrist-thick wand stuffed deeper into my fart valve. By now, my penis pothole was dribbling like a leaky tap. The pounding of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his disco stick deep in my tradesman's entrance. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish dripping from my Oxo orifice and all over my panty hamster. I can't wait to consume the creamy load from his Nelson's Column. The pounding makes me splurge my tuna tunnel tears all over his mutton dagger. The feeling of his steamin' semen dripping down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.

  It was bliss having his piss pipe plunged inside me again; stuffing my shame portal with a squash just didn't get my salmon slit squirting like it used to. With my vertical garden now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start probing my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my front bum still frothing. I thought it was over but his slut slayer had other ideas. If I don't flick the bean to get my vertical moisture dribbling from my carp cavity, his vein cane is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a manatee in yoga pants. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! When he removed his love lollipop from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the sewer trout off his pink tractor beam. The feeling of his creamy load haemorrhaging down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The unrelenting orgasms from his spunk-filled spam rocket plowing my cod crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his thrill drill rammed deeper into my ring piece. Inserting a barbie doll into my pink velvet sausage wallet got me squirting minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel shit. With his veiny quim prod pounding deep into my spunk dungeon, the sensation of his piss pipe smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his bugger king made my minge monsoon trickle like a rabid dog. He launched a giant footlong fudge bullet on my fiery biscuits just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The fucking of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his bugger king deep in my mud flap. After having my clunge pool thrusted, he then proceeded to raid my turd-herder. By now, my soft-shelled tuna taco was oozing like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. My sperm socket was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his throbbing quim dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My cake hole was so full of tallywacker and gentleman's relish, the ectoplasm was leaching down my chin and onto my twin peaks. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and penis pudding in my poo pipe created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my fuck trench and a barbie doll up my balloon knot. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish oozing from my black hole and all over my velcro triangle. I can't wait to gobble the love mayonnaise from his brie baton. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. There was Da Vinci load leaking from his greasy slimelight and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more.

  The hammering of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his slut slayer deep in my brown mile. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. My throat was so full of throbbing quim dagger and man fat, the man fat was flowing down my chin and onto my mammaries. I can't wait to suck the magician's wax from his turgid terror truncheon. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my birth cannon and a 9-iron up my balloon knot. The feeling of his man fat seeping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his all-beef thermometer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He pinched off a giant colon cobra on my top bollocks just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. After having my meat purse fucked, he then proceeded to thrust my shit winker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his washington monument shoved deeper into my rusty bullet hole. The plowing makes me spit my shrimp sap all over his vein cane. With my furburger now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start shoving my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a colon cobra, I wondered? When he removed his cunt plunger from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew
I couldn't wait to chow down on the butt nugget off his jebend. By now, my vibrator crater was slobbering like a George Foreman grill. I awoke the next morning with my chlamydia canal still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm seeping from my marmite motorway and all over my vertical smile. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! It was bliss having his cumtree plunged inside me again; stuffing my wunder down under with a number of chillies just didn't get my sperm socket flooding like it used to. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and baby gravy in my marmite motorway created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With his kebeb skewer plowing deep into my clunge pool, the sensation of his tenderloin truncheon smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The unrelenting orgasms from his womb raider hammering my clunge pool made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. My chamber of squelch was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. If I don't finger blast to get my shrimp sap sliming from my hatchet wound, his batter blaster is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. Inserting a gerbil into my vibrator crater got me spattering shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. There was magician's wax dribbling from his Nelson's Column and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more.