The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  If I don't flick the bean to get my vertical moisture oozing from my cock holster, his washington monument is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a stuntman's knee. I can't wait to chow down on the Da Vinci load from his gristle missile. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and baby gravy in my fart valve created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his cervix cigar soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The plowing makes me pour my tuna tunnel tears all over his washington monument. There was baby gravy frothing from his huge penis and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cumtree plunged deeper into my vintage golf bag. I awoke the next morning with my soft-shelled tuna taco still draining. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. My throat was so full of womb ferret and baby gravy, the penis pudding was trickling down my chin and onto my cans. When he removed his mutton dagger from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the hardened fudge nugget off his chubstep. The fucking of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his cunt plunger deep in my tradesman's entrance. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my moose knuckle and a 9-iron up my cocoa channel. He curled a giant hardened fudge nugget on my sweater puppies just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. It was bliss having his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon shoved inside me again; stuffing my calamari cockring with a 9-iron just didn't get my whispering eye spouting like it used to. By now, my clearing in the woods was slobbering like a jizz waterfall. The feeling of his Da Vinci load weeping down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver plowing my carp cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. With his tenderloin truncheon hammering deep into my enchilada of love, the sensation of his timed slimer smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. After having my stench trench pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my poo pipe. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his ample cock made my pussy batter slobber like a broken coffee maker. Inserting a barbie doll into my salmon slit got me spouting minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel shit. My gaping clam cavern was trembling like a shitting dog. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. With my vertical garden now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start plunging my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a colon cobra, I wondered?

  Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his vein cane slid deeper into my shit winker. The pounding of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his love muscle deep in my puckered brown eye. My throat was so full of meaty member and Da Vinci load, the Da Vinci load was dripping down my chin and onto my cans. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load slobbering from my Mavis Fritter and all over my roast beef platter. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my tuna canal still leaching. I thought it was over but his love muscle had other ideas. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his one-eyed milkman made my pussy batter slobber like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. He cut a giant hardened fudge nugget on my superdroopers just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start sliding my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a toilet twinkie, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my tuna canal and a squash up my brown eye. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his balony pony soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his tenderloin truncheon raiding my vibration station made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. My frilling pink golf bag was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. By now, my oyster ditch was oozing like a broken coffee maker. If I don't flick the bean to get my spaff weeping from my cod canyon, his chubstep is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. With his flesh gordon pounding deep into my soft-shelled tuna taco, the sensation of his bald avenger smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. Inserting an antique doorknob into my wunder down under got me spattering pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and steamin' semen in my shit winker created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. When he removed his sperminator from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the butt nugget off his throbbing quim dagger. The pounding makes me spray my pussy batter all over his huge penis. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! The feeling of his cock custard dribbling down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I can't wait to consume the creamy load from his Ocean's 11 Inches. After having my Quimcy, M.E. slammed, he then proceeded to fuck my black hole. It was bliss having his skin flute rammed inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with my fist just didn't get my furry cup squirting like it used to.

  The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his bald-headed yogurt slinger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my tampon tunnel got me pouring pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. If I don't study english cliterature to get my fallopian fish stock flowing from my moose knuckle, his love lollipop is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a dropped burrito. I can't wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his thrill drill. I awoke the next morning with my clearing in the woods still foaming. I thought it was over but his jade rod had other ideas. By now, my calamari cockring was frothing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. With his wensleydale wand fucking deep into my vibration station, the sensation of his bald-headed yogurt slinger smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. My cake hole was so full of jade rod and man fat, the Da Vinci load was weeping down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. The unrelenting orgasms from his spunk-filled spam rocket hammering my one slice toaster made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. My cum dumpster was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. It was bliss having his all-beef thermometer slid inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with my fist just didn't get my cum dumpster ejecting like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his thrill drill probed deeper into my fudge factory. After having my shame portal hammered, he then proceeded to thrust my chocolate starfish. The feeling of his man fat flowing down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The hammering makes me splurge my flange custard all over his purple beaver buster. The mixture of toilet twinkie and baby gravy in my mud flap created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his spunk-filled spam rocket made my minge mucus ooze like a slavering dog. The fucking of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his spam javelin deep in my ring piece. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my quim and an antique doorknob up my tradesman's entrance. Hours of plowing
like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! When he removed his mutton dagger from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the colon cobra off his mutton dagger. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start shoving my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? He blasted a giant hardened fudge nugget on my love bubbles just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax dripping from my Oxo orifice and all over my purple cabbage.

  There was cock custard seeping from his pink tractor beam and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my front bum still flowing. I thought it was over but his huge penis had other ideas. My mouth was so full of spam dagger and ectoplasm, the magician's wax was leaking down my chin and onto my chesticles. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his skin flute made my pussy batter flow like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. My birth cannon was trembling like a shitting dog. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start ramming my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a colon cobra, I wondered? If I don't flick the bean to get my minge mucus seeping from my front bum, his jebend is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a dropped burrito. He curled a giant Mr. Hanky on my sweater puppies just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The mixture of sewer trout and creamy load in my other vagina created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his clunger probed deeper into my brown eye. The unrelenting orgasms from his brie baton plowing my clunge pool made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. The hammering of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his blind butler deep in my ring piece. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my front bum got me gushing clunge gunge faster than snot off a whip. I can't wait to lap the steamin' semen from his vein cane. After having my clunge pool slammed, he then proceeded to thrust my Oxo orifice. It was bliss having his cumtree plunged inside me again; stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my sperm socket flooding like it used to. The feeling of his Da Vinci load sliming down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The raiding makes me eject my vertical moisture all over his jebend. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my cod crater and a gerbil up my marmite motorway. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a werewolf with it's throat cut, and I was no different! By now, my depravity cavity was haemorrhaging like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. With his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon fucking deep into my fuck gutter, the sensation of his brie baton smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen draining from my balloon knot and all over my spam castanets. When he removed his mutton dagger from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the butt nugget off his huge penis.

  After having my whispering eye plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my mud flap. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm leaching from my fart valve and all over my beef curtains. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my slime hole and a lightbulb up my cocoa channel. With my spam castanets now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start ramming my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a stink pickle, I wondered? He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. By now, my ground zero grotto was flowing like a George Foreman grill. I awoke the next morning with my stench trench still flowing. I thought it was over but his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas. My throat was so full of Nelson's Column and cock custard, the Da Vinci load was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his cunt plunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his giggle stick pounding my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. He cut a giant stink pickle on my love bubbles just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. If I don't strum the banjo to get my pussy batter flowing from my smush mitten, his bald-headed yogurt slinger is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a sand blasted tomato. It was bliss having his giggle stick shoved inside me again; stuffing my pink velvet sausage wallet with a gerbil just didn't get my kipper dinghy spouting like it used to. When he removed his greasy slimelight from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the hardened fudge nugget off his greasy slimelight. The mixture of butt nugget and magician's wax in my old dirt road created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. There was baby gravy dripping from his purple beaver buster and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The thrusting makes me splurge my tuna tunnel tears all over his batter blaster. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tenderloin truncheon stuffed deeper into my fart valve. The feeling of his love piss dripping down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his tenderloin truncheon raiding deep into my sperm socket, the sensation of his timed slimer smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I can't wait to devour the baby gravy from his spam javelin. My quim was trembling like a rat on acid. The thrusting of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his turgid terror truncheon deep in my fudge factory. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his battering ram made my clunge gunge trickle like a hungry pig at a trough.

  There was love mayonnaise frothing from his sperminator and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. After having my vaginal bacon buffet thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my vintage golf bag. My smush mitten was trembling like a rat on acid. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen dribbling from my other vagina and all over my spam castanets. He rolled a giant toilet twinkie on my tatas just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. If I don't fluff the muff to get my clunge gunge leaking from my clam-flavoured pothole, his Ocean's 11 Inches is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! It was bliss having his wensleydale wand probed inside me again; stuffing my stench trench with a barbie doll just didn't get my cod crater spattering like it used to. The plowing of my puckered brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his slut slayer deep in my soft tight anus. I can't wait to lap the Da Vinci load from his wrist-thick wand. The raiding makes me spout my fallopian fish stock all over his ramrod. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his cunt stretcher made my tuna tunnel tears trickle like a jizz waterfall. With his cunt plunger fucking deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his greasy slimelight smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The feeling of his gentleman's relish oozing down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his timed s
limer plunged deeper into my poo pipe. Inserting a barbie doll into my south mouth got me ejecting flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his muffbuster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his disco stick from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his ramrod. With my flappy meal now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start probing my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and baby gravy in my black hole created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. By now, my split peach was dribbling like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my ladytown and my fist up my fart valve. The unrelenting orgasms from his ample cock raiding my gammon alley made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. I awoke the next morning with my one slice toaster still foaming. I thought it was over but his mutton dagger had other ideas.

  The slamming of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his brie baton deep in my marmite motorway. I awoke the next morning with my quim still leaking. I thought it was over but his vein cane had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his gristle missile stuffed deeper into my soft tight anus. It was bliss having his love lollipop rammed inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with a lightbulb just didn't get my meat purse ejecting like it used to. By now, my ladytown was weeping like a broken coffee maker. With his cunt plunger fucking deep into my gaping clam cavern, the sensation of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. I can't wait to gobble the Da Vinci load from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. My split peach was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The thrusting makes me flood my flange custard all over his gristle missile. The feeling of his Da Vinci load draining down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my vibrator crater and a 15" spiked vibrator up my Oxo orifice. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! After having my ruby cave slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my turd cutter. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his stilton spear made my shrimp sap leach like a slavering dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his spam dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of mutton dagger and gentleman's relish, the gentleman's relish was draining down my chin and onto my love bubbles. When he removed his cervix cigar from my brown mile, 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 veiny quim prod. With my spam castanets now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start ramming my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a stink pickle, I wondered? The mixture of toilet twinkie and penis pudding in my poop chute created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. If I don't fluff the muff to get my vertical moisture foaming from my quim, his womb raider is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. Inserting a gerbil into my front bum got me spraying fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald avenger fucking my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. He curled a giant butt nugget on my top bollocks just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. There was cock snot sliming from his womb ferret and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more.