The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  With my purple cabbage now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start sliding my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a colon cobra, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton spear plunged deeper into my balloon knot. The fucking makes me pour my pussy batter all over his love muscle. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and steamin' semen in my brown mile created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With his slut slayer raiding deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his balony pony smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The slamming of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his washington monument deep in my marmite motorway. My cod cave was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. By now, my south mouth was leaking like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. When he removed his cunt plunger from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the corn-eyed butt snake off his love muscle. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy sliming from my balloon knot and all over my piss flaps. I can't wait to consume the cock custard from his Ocean's 11 Inches. The feeling of his love mayonnaise flowing down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my bearded haddock pasty and a number of chillies up my balloon knot. The unrelenting orgasms from his spunk-filled spam rocket slamming my furry cup made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his pink tractor beam made my beige slime haemorrhage like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. My cake hole was so full of long-dong silver and Da Vinci load, the steamin' semen was frothing down my chin and onto my mammaries. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my minge mucus weeping from my hatchet wound, his throbbing quim dagger is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a clown's pocket. After having my cum dumpster pounded, he then proceeded to slam my black hole. Inserting a barbie doll into my clearing in the woods got me pouring clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his washington monument soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He rolled a giant colon cobra on my fiery biscuits just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. It was bliss having his purple-headed trouser snake rammed inside me again; stuffing my hot pocket with my fist just didn't get my chlamydia canal spritzing like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my ground zero grotto still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. There was steamin' semen foaming from his balony pony and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more.

  The unrelenting orgasms from his skin flute slamming my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. If I don't finger blast to get my spaff weeping from my sperm socket, his huge penis is going to leave my furburger resembling the south end of a badger going north. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb ferret rammed deeper into my vintage golf bag. By now, my gammon alley was frothing like a slug in a salt mine. The feeling of his love piss trickling down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen oozing from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my roast beef platter. The plowing of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his all-beef thermometer deep in my vintage golf bag. There was love mayonnaise flowing from his veiny quim prod and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his disco stick stuffed inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia canal with a lightbulb just didn't get my meat purse flowing like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my quim still draining. I thought it was over but his cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my birth cannon and an egg timer up my turd cutter. Inserting a gerbil into my tuna canal got me spritzing tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his tenderloin truncheon hammering deep into my gaping clam cavern, the sensation of his skeleton king smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his tenderloin truncheon made my tuna tunnel tears froth like a hungry pig at a trough. He eased out a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my rack just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of butt nugget and baby gravy in my turd-herder created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I can't wait to consume the love mayonnaise from his throbbing quim dagger. My throat was so full of greasy kebab skewer and steamin' semen, the baby gravy was flowing down my chin and onto my mammaries. With my piss flaps now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start sliding my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? When he removed his kebeb skewer from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the sewer trout off his stilton spear. After having my ladytown thrusted, he then proceeded to plow my tradesman's entrance. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his one-eyed milkman soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My cock holster was trembling like a shitting dog. The thrusting makes me eject my minge mucus all over his meaty member.

  Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his huge penis rammed deeper into my black hole. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start sliding my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? With his gristle missile hammering deep into my front bum, the sensation of his long-dong silver smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The thrusting makes me flow my tuna tunnel tears all over his throbbing quim dagger. The slamming of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his Nelson's Column deep in my turd-herder. If I don't finger blast to get my clunge gunge oozing from my ruby cave, his chubstep is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a sand blasted tomato. When he removed his jebend from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the sewer trout off his flesh gordon. He launched a giant sewer trout on my love bubbles just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my vaginal bacon buffet and a gerbil up my brown mile. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his timed slimer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his piss pipe pounding my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. Inserting my fist into my ladytown got me pouring pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was baby gravy oozing from his one-eyed milkman and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. My moose knuckle was trembling like a shitting dog. After having my vibration station pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my Mavis Fritter. My mouth was so full of Nelson's Column and cock custard, the steamin' semen was trickling down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load dribbling from my brown eye and all over my hairy goblet. The feeling of hi
s creamy load weeping down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his stilton sword stuffed inside me again; stuffing my shamevelope with an egg timer just didn't get my ruby cave surging like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my vibrator crater still sliming. I thought it was over but his spunk-filled spam rocket had other ideas. I can't wait to lap the ectoplasm from his love lollipop. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his spam dagger made my tuna tunnel tears drain like a slavering dog. The mixture of toilet twinkie and gentleman's relish in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week.

  If I don't play the clitar to get my tuna tunnel tears slobbering from my salmon slit, his stilton spear is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. The unrelenting orgasms from his battering ram thrusting my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. There was penis pudding flowing from his greasy slimelight and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his giggle stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus slid inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with a number of chillies just didn't get my one slice toaster pouring like it used to. My stench trench was trembling like jelly. With my vertical garden now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start sliding my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The raiding of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his all-beef thermometer deep in my rusty bullet hole. I can't wait to chow down on the love piss from his chorizo howitzer. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my pink velvet sausage wallet and a number of chillies up my ring piece. After having my ladytown slammed, he then proceeded to thrust my puckered brown eye. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his veiny quim prod plunged deeper into my puckered brown eye. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his love muscle made my pussy batter drip like a broken fridge freezer. By now, my furry cup was sliming like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. With his timed slimer slamming deep into my hatchet wound, the sensation of his skin flute smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load trickling from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my roast beef platter. He blasted a giant colon cobra on my breasticles just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. When he removed his tenderloin truncheon from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his batter blaster. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! The feeling of his love piss flowing down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my municipal cockwash still slobbering. I thought it was over but his bald avenger had other ideas. The mixture of sewer trout and man fat in my cocoa channel created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The pounding makes me spit my minge mucus all over his long-dong silver. My mouth was so full of veiny quim prod and ectoplasm, the magician's wax was seeping down my chin and onto my mosquito bites.

  Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my chamber of squelch and an antique doorknob up my brown mile. Inserting an antique doorknob into my wizards sleeve got me ejecting sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! When he removed his one-eyed monster from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his devil's bagpipe. By now, my hatchet wound was frothing like a broken fridge freezer. The feeling of his cock custard trickling down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of colon cobra and love mayonnaise in my ring piece created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. My herring hole was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his cunt plunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was man fat dribbling from his kebeb skewer and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my frilling pink golf bag still sliming. I thought it was over but his skeleton king had other ideas. My throat was so full of spam dagger and magician's wax, the love piss was leaching down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. With his cervix cigar thrusting deep into my hatchet wound, the sensation of his long-dong silver smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his cream reaper made my vertical moisture drain like a George Foreman grill. He pitched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my chesticles just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load seeping from my turd cutter and all over my fishy flaps. It was bliss having his sperminator probed inside me again; stuffing my mound of love pudding with a number of chillies just didn't get my bearded haddock pasty spattering like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald avenger raiding my clearing in the woods made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. With my velcro triangle now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start shoving my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a toilet twinkie, I wondered? After having my ground zero grotto thrusted, he then proceeded to raid my brown mile. The pounding of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his jebend deep in my poo pipe. I can't wait to gobble the cock custard from his turgid terror truncheon. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my flange custard frothing from my tuna canal, his sperminator is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. The thrusting makes me splurge my flange custard all over his kebeb skewer. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week.

  If I don't finger blast to get my vertical moisture dribbling from my chamber of squelch, his cervix cigar is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. When he removed his love lollipop from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the colon cobra off his blind butler. The feeling of his gentleman's relish trickling down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Ocean's 11 Inches stuffed deeper into my ring piece. My hot pocket was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. He dropped a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my mammaries just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and baby gravy in my marmite motorway created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. With my vertical smile now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start ramming my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a sewer trout, I wondered? He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The plowing of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his cumtree deep in my Mavis Fritter. Inserting a number of chillies into my cod canyon got me spritzing beige slime faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. 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 salmon slit and a squash up my poo pipe. The pounding makes me spritz my fallopian fish stock all over his skeleton king. After having my furry cup slammed, he then proceeded to plow my mud flap. I awoke the next morning with my gammon alley still oozing. I thought it was over but his flesh gordon had other ideas. It was bliss having his love lollipop plunged inside me again; stuffing my vaginal bacon buffet with a squash just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag splurging like it used to. There was magician's wax foaming from his jebend and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. My mouth was so full of wensleydale wand and steamin' semen, the ectoplasm was foaming down my chin and onto my superdroopers. With his one-eyed milkman hammering deep into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his jebend smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. I can't wait to gobble the gentleman's relish from his cheese-crusted cock. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his mutton dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen frothing from my fart valve and all over my furburger. The unrelenting orgasms from his slut slayer plowing my municipal cockwash made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. By now, my wunder down under was sliming like a jizz waterfall. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a badly wrapped kebab, and I was no different!