The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  My mouth was so full of batter blaster and love piss, the cock snot was leaching down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. Inserting a lightbulb into my carp cavity got me pouring sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. When he removed his batter blaster from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the sewer trout off his mutton dagger. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my vibration station and a lightbulb up my vintage golf bag. By now, my vibration station was foaming like a broken fridge freezer. The unrelenting orgasms from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus pounding my cod crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. After having my penis pothole thrusted, he then proceeded to fuck my chocolate starfish. He dropped a giant butt nugget on my top bollocks just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. It was bliss having his brie baton slid inside me again; stuffing my birth cannon with a lightbulb just didn't get my cod canyon squirting like it used to. There was love piss slobbering from his clunger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb ferret plunged deeper into my turd cutter. The feeling of his creamy load foaming down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The hammering makes me splurge my minge mucus all over his tenderloin truncheon. If I don't study english cliterature to get my minge monsoon leaking from my chamber of squelch, his veiny quim prod is going to leave my spam castanets resembling a hippo's yawn. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his one-eyed monster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot seeping from my shit winker and all over my hairy goblet. The mixture of butt nugget and ectoplasm in my balloon knot created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his balony pony made my minge monsoon foam like a leaky tap. With his purple-headed trouser snake hammering deep into my clam-flavoured pothole, the sensation of his giggle stick smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The slamming of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his clunger deep in my turd-herder. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! My cock holster was trembling like a rat on acid. I awoke the next morning with my tuna canal still weeping. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. With my flappy meal now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start probing my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a toilet twinkie, I wondered?

  The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his slut slayer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and man fat in my old dirt road created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise leaching from my black hole and all over my vertical smile. After having my wizards sleeve thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my turd cutter. With his gristle missile fucking deep into my slime hole, the sensation of his tallywacker smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. When he removed his love lollipop from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the toilet twinkie off his spam javelin. If I don't study english cliterature to get my spaff seeping from my vibrator crater, his wensleydale wand is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a shot cat. The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile raiding my south mouth made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. I awoke the next morning with my Quimcy, M.E. still leaching. I thought it was over but his gristle missile had other ideas. The feeling of his baby gravy dribbling down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my shame portal and a number of chillies up my shit winker. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. Inserting a squash into my tuna canal got me spraying fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. The thrusting makes me spray my tuna tunnel tears all over his devil's bagpipe. I can't wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his thrill drill. With my panty hamster now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start sliding my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a stink pickle, I wondered? By now, my cod canyon was haemorrhaging like a slavering dog. It was bliss having his piss pipe plunged inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with a 9-iron just didn't get my birth cannon spraying like it used to. My cake hole was so full of sperminator and penis pudding, the creamy load was slobbering down my chin and onto my tatas. The raiding of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his pink tractor beam deep in my chocolate starfish. He crowned a giant hardened fudge nugget on my chesticles just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my beige slime drip like a leaky tap. My tampon tunnel was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his mutton dagger slid deeper into my mud flap.

  With my clap flaps now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start plunging my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his piss pipe plowing my front bum made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. By now, my hatchet wound was sliming like a jizz waterfall. When he removed his muffbuster from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his purple beaver buster. With his giggle stick fucking deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his all-beef thermometer smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his meaty member rammed deeper into my poo pipe. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard leaching from my brown eye and all over my panty hamster. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and cock custard in my old dirt road created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. My penis pothole was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. After having my enchilada of love thrusted, he then proceeded to hammer my fart valve. I can't wait to lap the love mayonnaise from his greasy kebab skewer. It was bliss having his mutton dagger probed inside me again; stuffing my moose knuckle with a 9-iron just didn't get my kipper dinghy surging like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his washington monument soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was love mayonnaise leaching from his washington monument and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my meat purse and a barbie doll up my poo pipe. He launched a giant hardened fudge nugget on my droopies just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I awoke the next morning with my vaginal bacon buffet still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his kebeb skewer had other ideas. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! The slamming of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his bald-headed yogurt slinger deep in my poo pipe. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. Insertin
g a 15" spiked vibrator into my cod crater got me spouting pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. The feeling of his cock snot haemorrhaging down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. If I don't study english cliterature to get my vertical moisture haemorrhaging from my ground zero grotto, his greasy slimelight is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling an over inflated dinghy. My mouth was so full of ramrod and penis pudding, the cock snot was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his slut slayer made my beige slime leach like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river.

  My cum dumpster was trembling like a rat on acid. The plowing makes me pour my clunge gunge all over his balony pony. It was bliss having his ample cock rammed inside me again; stuffing my clunge pool with a 9-iron just didn't get my clearing in the woods spritzing like it used to. My cake hole was so full of balony pony and creamy load, the gentleman's relish was slobbering down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Inserting a lightbulb into my moose knuckle got me ejecting sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his master of ceremonies made my clunge gunge dribble like a broken fridge freezer. After having my chlamydia canal plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my puckered brown eye. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald-headed yogurt slinger hammering my hatchet wound made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding foaming from my black hole and all over my purple cabbage. When he removed his love lollipop from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his gristle missile. With my lunchmeat now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start plunging my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? 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 fuck trench and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my brown eye. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! There was man fat flowing from his cervix cigar and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. He curled a giant footlong fudge bullet on my love bubbles just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my hatchet wound still seeping. I thought it was over but his cunt stretcher had other ideas. By now, my cod canyon was draining like a hungry pig at a trough. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his long-dong silver shoved deeper into my poo pipe. I can't wait to devour the Da Vinci load from his turgid terror truncheon. The feeling of his cock custard oozing down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his womb ferret soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my fallopian fish stock flowing from my tampon tunnel, his balony pony is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a motorway pileup. The plowing of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his wensleydale wand deep in my ring piece. The mixture of stink pickle and baby gravy in my black hole created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of.

  The thrusting makes me spritz my spaff all over his huge penis. The mixture of toilet twinkie and baby gravy in my chocolate starfish created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his skeleton king plunged inside me again; stuffing my sperm socket with a gerbil just didn't get my wizards sleeve surging like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy frothing from my tradesman's entrance and all over my flappy meal. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jade rod slid deeper into my old dirt road. My wizards sleeve was trembling like a shitting dog. The feeling of his ectoplasm weeping down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my oyster ditch fucked, he then proceeded to plow my cocoa channel. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his blind butler made my clunge gunge drip like a hungry pig at a trough. Inserting a squash into my wunder down under got me squirting beige slime faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He pitched a giant butt nugget on my tatas just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my sperm socket and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my tradesman's entrance. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his ramrod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! The plowing of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his thrill drill deep in my marmite motorway. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. By now, my cod crater was frothing like a slug in a salt mine. When he removed his muffbuster from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the sewer trout off his bald-headed yogurt slinger. If I don't study english cliterature to get my clunge gunge draining from my one slice toaster, his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. With my vertical smile now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start sliding my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a butt nugget, I wondered? With his stilton sword pounding deep into my frilling pink golf bag, the sensation of his womb ferret smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole still weeping. I thought it was over but his master of ceremonies had other ideas. There was creamy load trickling from his womb ferret and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam javelin thrusting my chamber of squelch made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. I can't wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his master of ceremonies.

  There was man fat slobbering from his one-eyed milkman and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. When he removed his wensleydale wand from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the toilet twinkie off his mutton dagger. With my flappy meal now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start sliding my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? If I don't fish for pearls to get my minge mucus leaking from my vibration station, his one-eyed monster is going to leave my vertical smile resembling Terry Waite's allotment. It was bliss having his spunk-filled spam rocket rammed inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my tampon tunnel flooding like it used to. After having my furry cup plowed, he then proceeded to pound my old dirt road. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. My throat was so full of veiny quim prod and creamy load, the ectoplasm was seeping down my chin and onto my top bollocks. The hammering of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my vintage golf bag. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his purple-headed trouser snake made my tuna tunnel tears foam like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his flesh gordon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! Inserting a 10
inch purple battery-operated monster into my vibration station got me flooding beige slime faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He pinched off a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my twin peaks just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The plowing makes me flood my fallopian fish stock all over his cheese-crusted cock. My one slice toaster was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. By now, my bearded haddock pasty was sliming like a slavering dog. I can't wait to gobble the creamy load from his battering ram. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his piss pipe plunged deeper into my cocoa channel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen sliming from my Mavis Fritter and all over my piss flaps. With his thrill drill fucking deep into my mound of love pudding, the sensation of his pink tractor beam smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. I awoke the next morning with my ground zero grotto still seeping. I thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas. The mixture of stink pickle and man fat in my brown mile created the delicious porthole pudding 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 an antique doorknob in my birth cannon and a number of chillies up my poop chute. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed milkman plowing my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot.