The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  The hammering of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his disco stick deep in my cocoa channel. Inserting an antique doorknob into my kipper dinghy got me spraying flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his thrill drill plunged deeper into my poop chute. After having my gashtray raided, he then proceeded to hammer my brown mile. My cake hole was so full of greasy kebab skewer and ectoplasm, the Da Vinci load was trickling down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! With my beef curtains now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start probing my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a colon cobra, I wondered? It was bliss having his love muscle plunged inside me again; stuffing my quim with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my tampon tunnel spraying like it used to. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock custard in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. If I don't play the clitar to get my sex wee seeping from my slime hole, his long-dong silver is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a rabid baboon's arse. I can't wait to gobble the Da Vinci load from his balony pony. 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 municipal cockwash and a number of chillies up my soft tight anus. By now, my ladytown was slobbering like a slavering dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his cumtree soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My cod cave was trembling like a shitting dog. He curled a giant toilet twinkie on my boobage just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his gristle missile made my vertical moisture slime like a broken coffee maker. The unrelenting orgasms from his pink tractor beam thrusting my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen flowing from my puckered brown eye and all over my panty hamster. The feeling of his creamy load draining down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my gashtray still slobbering. I thought it was over but his Ocean's 11 Inches had other ideas. When he removed his blue-veined custard chucker from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the Mr. Hanky off his clunger. There was man fat frothing from his brie baton and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. With his clunger thrusting deep into my vibrator crater, the sensation of his cream reaper smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.

  Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his all-beef thermometer shoved deeper into my tradesman's entrance. After having my ladytown plowed, he then proceeded to pound my shit winker. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his cumtree soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. Inserting a gerbil into my clunge pool got me spattering tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my clunge gunge draining from my bearded haddock pasty, his blue-veined custard chucker is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a dropped burrito. He blasted a giant footlong fudge bullet on my cans just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. By now, my chamber of squelch was dripping like a hungry pig at a trough. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my chlamydia canal and my fist up my other vagina. The thrusting of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his blue-veined custard chucker deep in my turd-herder. With his cumtree plowing deep into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his purple beaver buster smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. I can't wait to suck the baby gravy from his batter blaster. I awoke the next morning with my gammon alley still flowing. I thought it was over but his giggle stick had other ideas. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start ramming my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod plowing my vibration station made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The mixture of colon cobra and gentleman's relish in my turd cutter created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his all-beef thermometer made my sex wee ooze like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load draining from my fart valve and all over my velcro triangle. My throat was so full of veiny quim prod and magician's wax, the magician's wax was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my superdroopers. My herring hole was trembling like jelly. The feeling of his baby gravy foaming down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The raiding makes me flood my pussy batter all over his mutton dagger. When he removed his tenderloin truncheon from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the hardened fudge nugget off his purple beaver buster. There was cock snot haemorrhaging from his veiny quim prod and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more.

  Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen sliming from my vintage golf bag and all over my spam castanets. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. He curled a giant sewer trout on my chesticles just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! 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 bearded haddock pasty and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my Oxo orifice. The mixture of stink pickle and ectoplasm in my fart valve created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. My smush mitten was trembling like jelly. My cake hole was so full of love muscle and love piss, the baby gravy was leaching down my chin and onto my breasticles. The unrelenting orgasms from his flesh gordon hammering my slime hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. I awoke the next morning with my front bum still dribbling. I thought it was over but his disco stick had other ideas. The slamming makes me splurge my flange custard all over his tenderloin truncheon. The raiding of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his throbbing quim dagger deep in my turd cutter. It was bliss having his bald avenger plunged inside me again; stuffing my hot pocket with an egg timer just didn't get my quim flowing like it used to. When he removed his throbbing quim dagger from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the colon cobra off his Nelson's Column. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his piss pipe slid deeper into my brown mile. With his cream reaper thrusting deep into my hatchet wound, the sensation of his cumtree smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his womb ferret 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 jebend made my flange custard dribble like a broken coffee maker. With my piss flaps now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to st
art plunging my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? If I don't flick the bean to get my tuna tunnel tears weeping from my ruby cave, his veiny quim prod is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a twisted slipper. There was cock snot flowing from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Inserting a gerbil into my municipal cockwash got me flooding minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. By now, my shamevelope was foaming like a slavering dog. The feeling of his Da Vinci load trickling down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I can't wait to lap the magician's wax from his bugger king.

  Inserting a gerbil into my sperm socket got me pouring minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. The feeling of his love piss draining down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My quim was trembling like jelly. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his tallywacker made my beige slime seep like a jizz waterfall. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tenderloin truncheon rammed deeper into my cocoa channel. There was magician's wax weeping from his womb ferret and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I can't wait to consume the love piss from his one-eyed monster. He pinched off a giant hardened fudge nugget on my breasticles just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole still leaking. I thought it was over but his one-eyed milkman had other ideas. With my fishy flaps now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a sewer trout, I wondered? With his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus pounding deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his blind butler smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. It was bliss having his washington monument rammed inside me again; stuffing my furry cup with an egg timer just didn't get my meat purse spattering like it used to. After having my vaginal bacon buffet slammed, he then proceeded to pound my puckered brown eye. When he removed his master of ceremonies from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the toilet twinkie off his brie baton. The unrelenting orgasms from his love lollipop fucking my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his giggle stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My cake hole was so full of brie baton and creamy load, the cock snot was seeping down my chin and onto my rack. The slamming makes me pour my minge mucus all over his spunk-filled spam rocket. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my wunder down under and a gerbil up my other vagina. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy haemorrhaging from my ring piece and all over my furburger. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and cock snot in my marmite motorway created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. By now, my ground zero grotto was frothing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The plowing of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his flesh gordon deep in my chocolate starfish. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my clunge gunge dribbling from my hatchet wound, his blue-veined custard chucker is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a stuntman's knee. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a werewolf with it's throat cut, and I was no different!

  If I don't finger blast to get my shrimp sap slobbering from my moose knuckle, his brie baton is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a gutted trout. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy dripping from my puckered brown eye and all over my meaty hangers. The feeling of his gentleman's relish seeping down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his devil's bagpipe plunged inside me again; stuffing my depravity cavity with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag splurging like it used to. After having my meat purse thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my brown eye. There was cock custard weeping from his vein cane and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The raiding makes me splurge my beige slime all over his purple-headed trouser snake. I can't wait to gobble the man fat from his vein cane. With my meaty hangers now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start sliding my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a sewer trout, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his jebend soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My clunge pool was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Inserting an egg timer into my stench trench got me surging clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my front bum still trickling. I thought it was over but his cream reaper had other ideas. He launched a giant sewer trout on my mosquito bites just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. When he removed his brie baton from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the butt nugget off his spam javelin. My throat was so full of womb ferret and cock snot, the cock custard was weeping down my chin and onto my cans. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my tampon tunnel and a lightbulb up my puckered brown eye. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his blue-veined custard chucker made my minge monsoon weep like a rabid dog. The thrusting of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his bugger king deep in my marmite motorway. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his batter blaster shoved deeper into my mud flap. By now, my hot pocket was slobbering like a slug in a salt mine. The unrelenting orgasms from his kebeb skewer raiding my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! The mixture of stink pickle and love piss in my turd cutter created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of.

  When he removed his wrist-thick wand from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the hardened fudge nugget off his Ocean's 11 Inches. My throat was so full of tallywacker and ectoplasm, the gentleman's relish was draining down my chin and onto my cans. The feeling of his steamin' semen weeping down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The fucking of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his skeleton king deep in my vintage golf bag. With his cream reaper raiding deep into my chlamydia canal, the sensation of his cunt plunger smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. I can't wait to devour the love piss from his disco stick. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his stilton sword made my spaff flow like a rabid dog. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Nelson's Column slid deeper into my puckered brown eye. By now, my gaping clam cavern was oozing like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. After having my enchilada of love slammed, he then proceeded to raid my turd cutter. My depravity cavity was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. With my velcro triangle now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start stuffing my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? It was bliss having his jebend plunged inside me again; stuffing my furry cup with a gerbil just didn't get my vibrator crater gushing like
it used to. I awoke the next morning with my pink velvet sausage wallet still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his stilton sword had other ideas. The thrusting makes me flow my beige slime all over his cunt plunger. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard leaking from my marmite motorway and all over my flappy meal. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger slamming my one slice toaster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. The mixture of colon cobra and magician's wax in my cocoa channel created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my vibration station got me ejecting clunge gunge faster than snot off a whip. He cut a giant butt nugget on my fiery biscuits just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my municipal cockwash and an antique doorknob up my soft tight anus. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his long-dong silver soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was love piss trickling from his Nelson's Column and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more.