The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  It was bliss having his kebeb skewer slid inside me again; stuffing my fuck trench with a gerbil just didn't get my slime hole gushing like it used to. The pounding makes me spritz my flange custard all over his gristle missile. If I don't fish for pearls to get my spaff frothing from my cod cave, his greasy slimelight is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a badly wrapped kebab. The pounding of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his blind butler deep in my brown mile. I awoke the next morning with my clearing in the woods still leaching. I thought it was over but his throbbing quim dagger had other ideas. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my one slice toaster and a lightbulb up my brown mile. The mixture of stink pickle and penis pudding in my chocolate starfish created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his love muscle fucking my smush mitten made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his mutton dagger shoved deeper into my ring piece. My mouth was so full of cream reaper and baby gravy, the ectoplasm was leaching down my chin and onto my breasticles. I can't wait to chow down on the magician's wax from his womb ferret. After having my cod cave raided, he then proceeded to raid my vintage golf bag. Inserting a number of chillies into my cod crater got me gushing flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his cumtree soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He blasted a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my rack just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The feeling of his magician's wax haemorrhaging down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his cervix cigar from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his cunt plunger. With his blue-veined custard chucker plowing deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his bald avenger smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. By now, my mound of love pudding was foaming like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load draining from my cocoa channel and all over my hairy goblet. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his jade rod made my shrimp sap ooze like a rabid dog. My wunder down under was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! With my piss flaps now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start shoving my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered?

  I awoke the next morning with my fuck gutter still seeping. I thought it was over but his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had other ideas. He cut a giant toilet twinkie on my droopies just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy flowing from my balloon knot and all over my piss flaps. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his timed slimer made my vertical moisture drain like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. If I don't buff the muff to get my fallopian fish stock weeping from my ruby cave, his greasy kebab skewer is going to leave my beef curtains resembling the Japanese flag. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my carp cavity and an egg timer up my mud flap. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. My cake hole was so full of sperminator and love piss, the cock snot was leaking down my chin and onto my chesticles. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and ectoplasm in my old dirt road created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With my beef curtains now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start shoving my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a sewer trout, I wondered? When he removed his one-eyed monster from my black hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the hardened fudge nugget off his greasy kebab skewer. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his thrill drill soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The pounding makes me eject my minge mucus all over his purple-headed trouser snake. There was Da Vinci load haemorrhaging from his sperminator and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his long-dong silver slid inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia canal with an antique doorknob just didn't get my ruby cave splurging like it used to. Inserting a 9-iron into my quim got me spraying flange custard faster than snot off a whip. With his spam javelin pounding deep into my smush mitten, the sensation of his bugger king smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. The feeling of his magician's wax leaking down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My depravity cavity was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. By now, my slime hole was haemorrhaging like a jizz waterfall. After having my cod cave fucked, he then proceeded to pound my fart valve. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his washington monument slid deeper into my other vagina. The unrelenting orgasms from his ample cock slamming my moose knuckle made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. The fucking of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his womb raider deep in my poop chute.

  My mouth was so full of purple-headed trouser snake and ectoplasm, the love piss was oozing down my chin and onto my chesticles. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my minge monsoon oozing from my tampon tunnel, his skeleton king is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a rabid baboon's arse. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my wizards sleeve and a 15" spiked vibrator up my chocolate starfish. The unrelenting orgasms from his battering ram fucking my stench trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. With his stilton spear pounding deep into my cock holster, the sensation of his pink tractor beam smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The mixture of sewer trout and man fat in my soft tight anus created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. By now, my shamevelope was leaking like a George Foreman grill. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his slut slayer shoved deeper into my fudge factory. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. My penis pothole was trembling like a rat on acid. The raiding makes me flood my beige slime all over his slut slayer. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The pounding of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his meaty member deep in my chocolate starfish. There was ectoplasm seeping from his brie baton and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his gristle missile rammed inside me again; stuffing my tuna canal with a 9-iron just didn't get my vibrator crater spattering like it used to. I can't wait to suck the love mayonnaise from his womb raider. The feeling of his love mayonnaise trickling down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my salmon slit got me flowing fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. He curled a giant sewer trout on my love bubbles just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. When he removed his wensleydale wand from my vintage golf bag, he was pleas
antly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the butt nugget off his meaty member. After having my clam-flavoured pothole raided, he then proceeded to hammer my marmite motorway. With my flappy meal now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start probing my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my cod crater still dripping. I thought it was over but his tenderloin truncheon had other ideas. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his cunt stretcher made my sex wee slobber like a slavering dog.

  My frilling pink golf bag was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and love piss in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The feeling of his baby gravy leaching down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. After having my vaginal bacon buffet thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my brown mile. With his blind butler thrusting deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his flesh gordon smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. I awoke the next morning with my clearing in the woods still leaking. I thought it was over but his spunk-filled spam rocket had other ideas. I can't wait to consume the cock custard from his gristle missile. By now, my ruby cave was foaming like a slug in a salt mine. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my slime hole got me ejecting vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip. If I don't flick the bean to get my minge mucus flowing from my clearing in the woods, his chorizo howitzer is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a ripped out fireplace. With my flappy meal now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start shoving my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a sewer trout, I wondered? Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his greasy slimelight made my tuna tunnel tears ooze like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his muffbuster thrusting my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his tallywacker soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax dribbling from my poop chute and all over my meaty hangers. He extruded a giant Mr. Hanky on my tatas just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My throat was so full of blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and ectoplasm, the love mayonnaise was flowing down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam javelin slid deeper into my poop chute. The thrusting of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his all-beef thermometer deep in my puckered brown eye. The fucking makes me flow my fallopian fish stock all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my south mouth and a gerbil up my poo pipe. When he removed his piss pipe 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 lap the colon cobra off his love lollipop. It was bliss having his womb ferret shoved inside me again; stuffing my ladytown with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my smush mitten squirting like it used to. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different!

  Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! Inserting my fist into my ground zero grotto got me splurging tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his clunger from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the butt nugget off his purple-headed trouser snake. There was love mayonnaise weeping from his timed slimer and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. I can't wait to gobble the steamin' semen from his cream reaper. The hammering of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his batter blaster deep in my mud flap. The feeling of his cock snot leaking down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my wunder down under and a lightbulb up my other vagina. By now, my bearded haddock pasty was oozing like a George Foreman grill. My throat was so full of stilton spear and gentleman's relish, the penis pudding was trickling down my chin and onto my rack. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my beige slime weeping from my fuck gutter, his cheese-crusted cock is going to leave my vertical garden resembling Terry Waite's allotment. He arced a giant Mr. Hanky on my boobage just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his blind butler soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy trickling from my brown eye and all over my clap flaps. My south mouth was trembling like jelly. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ample cock shoved deeper into my chocolate starfish. The raiding makes me spritz my fallopian fish stock all over his giggle stick. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his one-eyed monster made my clunge gunge haemorrhage like a hungry pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my ground zero grotto still foaming. I thought it was over but his clunger had other ideas. The mixture of toilet twinkie and penis pudding in my fudge factory created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. With his slut slayer hammering deep into my wizards sleeve, the sensation of his long-dong silver smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. With my piss flaps now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start probing my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his wrist-thick wand thrusting my quim made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. After having my clearing in the woods raided, he then proceeded to pound my brown eye.

  My cake hole was so full of chorizo howitzer and man fat, the Da Vinci load was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my mammaries. If I don't study english cliterature to get my fallopian fish stock sliming from my hot pocket, his tenderloin truncheon is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a hippo's yawn. The feeling of his steamin' semen weeping down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cervix cigar plunged deeper into my turd cutter. He pinched off a giant butt nugget on my breasticles just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. The raiding makes me splurge my shrimp sap all over his purple-headed trouser snake. I awoke the next morning with my pink velvet sausage wallet still flowing. I thought it was over but his brie baton had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple beaver buster fucking my vibration station made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. With his meaty member hammering deep into my gashtray, the sensation of his bugger king smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. There was love mayonnaise leaching from his pink tractor beam and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax seeping from my Mavis Fritter and all over my roast beef platter. It was bliss having his wrist-thick wand probed inside me again; stuffing my quim with my fist just didn't get my vibration stati
on spraying like it used to. My clearing in the woods was trembling like jelly. By now, my sperm socket was leaching like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The mixture of butt nugget and creamy load in my chocolate starfish created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his spunk-filled spam rocket made my sex wee slobber like a leaky tap. After having my penis pothole hammered, he then proceeded to slam my tradesman's entrance. With my beef curtains now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my mound of love pudding got me squirting tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. I can't wait to chow down on the cock snot from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his master of ceremonies soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his bald-headed yogurt slinger from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the Mr. Hanky off his spam dagger. The fucking of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his sperminator deep in my fudge factory. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my moose knuckle and a barbie doll up my turd-herder.