The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  There was penis pudding dripping from his jade rod and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. My depravity cavity was trembling like jelly. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! My cake hole was so full of one-eyed monster and cock snot, the cock custard was seeping down my chin and onto my droopies. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Ocean's 11 Inches rammed deeper into my brown eye. The slamming makes me gush my minge monsoon all over his love muscle. I awoke the next morning with my stench trench still slobbering. I thought it was over but his tenderloin truncheon had other ideas. By now, my cock holster was oozing like a leaky tap. With his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus thrusting deep into my ground zero grotto, the sensation of his muffbuster smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his jade rod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my shamevelope fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my turd-herder. The mixture of toilet twinkie and creamy load in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Inserting a barbie doll into my hatchet wound got me ejecting pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The raiding of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his balony pony deep in my brown eye. The unrelenting orgasms from his wrist-thick wand thrusting my enchilada of love made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his wrist-thick wand made my minge mucus trickle like a broken fridge freezer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load slobbering from my poop chute and all over my vertical smile. When he removed his stilton sword from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the stink pickle off his pink tractor beam. With my vertical smile now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start ramming my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a toilet twinkie, I wondered? It was bliss having his tallywacker shoved inside me again; stuffing my salmon slit with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my wizards sleeve spraying like it used to. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my hot pocket and a 15" spiked vibrator up my old dirt road. The feeling of his Da Vinci load frothing down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip. If I don't buff the muff to get my minge monsoon dribbling from my hatchet wound, his thrill drill is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a badly wrapped kebab. I can't wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his devil's bagpipe.

  Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my fuck trench and a gerbil up my tradesman's entrance. Inserting a gerbil into my front bum got me spattering spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. After having my cock holster slammed, he then proceeded to slam my marmite motorway. With his stilton sword plowing deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his flesh gordon smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The pounding makes me gush my minge mucus all over his purple beaver buster. If I don't play the clitar to get my pussy batter draining from my calamari cockring, his cream reaper is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. My enchilada of love was trembling like a shitting dog. It was bliss having his piss pipe plunged inside me again; stuffing my spunk dungeon with a number of chillies just didn't get my gaping clam cavern ejecting like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my flappy meal now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start shoving my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a colon cobra, I wondered? Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his mutton dagger made my pussy batter haemorrhage like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish weeping from my soft tight anus and all over my vertical smile. He rolled a giant butt nugget on my chest puppies just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The unrelenting orgasms from his throbbing quim dagger raiding my salmon slit made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and magician's wax in my poop chute created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. By now, my clearing in the woods was flowing like a slavering dog. The feeling of his penis pudding trickling down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was love piss draining from his ramrod and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. My cake hole was so full of gristle missile and gentleman's relish, the ectoplasm was weeping down my chin and onto my boobage. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his giggle stick slid deeper into my soft tight anus. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. I can't wait to lap the cock custard from his ramrod. The slamming of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his spam javelin deep in my shit winker. When he removed his wensleydale wand from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the Mr. Hanky off his kebeb skewer.

  Inserting my fist into my cod crater got me flowing flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. My wizards sleeve was trembling like a shitting dog. I can't wait to devour the steamin' semen from his greasy kebab skewer. There was gentleman's relish dribbling from his brie baton and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. My mouth was so full of sperminator and Da Vinci load, the ectoplasm was flowing down my chin and onto my superdroopers. I awoke the next morning with my hatchet wound still weeping. I thought it was over but his washington monument had other ideas. With his bald avenger slamming deep into my calamari cockring, the sensation of his disco stick smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. He cut a giant hardened fudge nugget on my twin peaks just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The feeling of his magician's wax oozing down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The slamming of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my fudge factory. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my depravity cavity and a 15" spiked vibrator up my turd-herder. By now, my gaping clam cavern was sliming like a rabid dog. When he removed his Ocean's 11 Inches from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the corn-eyed butt snake off his muffbuster. It was bliss having his master of ceremonies probed inside me again; stuffing my cod cave with an antique doorknob just didn't get my cock holster spattering like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his batter blaster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my ruby cave thrusted, he then proceeded to fuck my fudge factory. With my purple cabbage now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start shoving my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the lea
st of my worries as his purple beaver buster probed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax dripping from my marmite motorway and all over my meaty hangers. If I don't fluff the muff to get my shrimp sap slobbering from my shamevelope, his master of ceremonies is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a ripped out fireplace. The pounding makes me surge my minge monsoon all over his sperminator. The mixture of toilet twinkie and steamin' semen in my old dirt road created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his battering ram plowing my front bum made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional.

  When he removed his battering ram 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 lap the Mr. Hanky off his meaty member. The slamming of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his balony pony deep in my soft tight anus. My furry cup was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my sex wee trickling from my ruby cave, his batter blaster is going to leave my vertical smile resembling Pete Burns' lips. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his cervix cigar soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load frothing from my ring piece and all over my piss flaps. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my shame portal and a squash up my rusty bullet hole. It was bliss having his cervix cigar stuffed inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with my fist just didn't get my chlamydia canal spraying like it used to. The fucking makes me flow my minge mucus all over his blue-veined custard chucker. By now, my vaginal bacon buffet was sliming like a broken fridge freezer. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon made my spaff ooze like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt plunger plunged deeper into my brown eye. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and love mayonnaise in my ring piece created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. He rolled a giant footlong fudge bullet on my top bollocks just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still oozing. I thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas. My throat was so full of cumtree and man fat, the cock snot was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my love bubbles. There was steamin' semen sliming from his wensleydale wand and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. The feeling of his ectoplasm foaming down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. After having my sperm socket slammed, he then proceeded to thrust my shit winker. I can't wait to chow down on the Da Vinci load from his battering ram. With his washington monument pounding deep into my vibration station, the sensation of his gristle missile smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. The unrelenting orgasms from his cunt plunger raiding my south mouth made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. With my piss flaps now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start sliding my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a butt nugget, I wondered?

  The feeling of his love mayonnaise slobbering down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and gentleman's relish in my brown mile created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. 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 cock holster and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my mud flap. I awoke the next morning with my hatchet wound still dripping. I thought it was over but his sperminator had other ideas. I can't wait to devour the steamin' semen from his flesh gordon. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. He copped a giant Mr. Hanky on my love bubbles just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The unrelenting orgasms from his jebend thrusting my Quimcy, M.E. made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. It was bliss having his disco stick plunged inside me again; stuffing my birth cannon with my fist just didn't get my sperm socket spraying like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish foaming from my mud flap and all over my fishy flaps. The slamming makes me flow my minge mucus all over his cervix cigar. When he removed his chorizo howitzer from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the Mr. Hanky off his battering ram. My carp cavity was trembling like a shitting dog. With my spam castanets now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a toilet twinkie, I wondered? My throat was so full of gristle missile and man fat, the love mayonnaise was oozing down my chin and onto my rack. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my gashtray got me spritzing vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip. If I don't fish for pearls to get my fallopian fish stock dribbling from my Quimcy, M.E., his all-beef thermometer is going to leave my vertical garden resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. The hammering of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his gristle missile deep in my tradesman's entrance. After having my wizards sleeve slammed, he then proceeded to pound my turd-herder. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his bugger king soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! By now, my vaginal bacon buffet was dripping like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. There was love piss haemorrhaging from his huge penis and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. With his gristle missile slamming deep into my clearing in the woods, the sensation of his brie baton smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his long-dong silver made my clunge gunge ooze like a George Foreman grill.

  Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! My vibrator crater was trembling like jelly. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my shamevelope and a 9-iron up my mud flap. I can't wait to suck the love mayonnaise from his washington monument. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Inserting a gerbil into my clearing in the woods got me spouting flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. If I don't strum the banjo to get my sex wee foaming from my pink velvet sausage wallet, his ample cock is going to leave my furburger resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. The mixture of sewer trout and gentleman's relish in my soft tight anus created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The fucking of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his veiny quim prod deep in my poo pipe. The feeling of his baby gravy leaching down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than snot off a whip. After having my fuck gutter slammed, he then proceeded to thrust my vintage golf bag. There was man fat draining from his stilton sword and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. He pitched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my sweater puppies just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skin flute shoved deeper into my chocolate starfish. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish seeping from my
rusty sherif's badge and all over my furburger. The unrelenting orgasms from his veiny quim prod fucking my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. The plowing makes me spritz my flange custard all over his chorizo howitzer. When he removed his master of ceremonies from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the corn-eyed butt snake off his cumtree. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his vein cane soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My cake hole was so full of Nelson's Column and ectoplasm, the cock snot was foaming down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. By now, my frilling pink golf bag was haemorrhaging like a leaky tap. I awoke the next morning with my birth cannon still weeping. I thought it was over but his devil's bagpipe had other ideas. It was bliss having his slut slayer plunged inside me again; stuffing my mound of love pudding with an antique doorknob just didn't get my tampon tunnel pouring like it used to. With his ramrod fucking deep into my enchilada of love, the sensation of his chorizo howitzer smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his devil's bagpipe made my tuna tunnel tears ooze like a broken fridge freezer.