The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my shamevelope and a 15" spiked vibrator up my brown eye. It was bliss having his womb raider rammed inside me again; stuffing my depravity cavity with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my mound of love pudding squirting like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his cream reaper soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my fuck trench was seeping like a broken fridge freezer. My gashtray was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my moose knuckle got me pouring minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. The raiding makes me splurge my sex wee all over his piss pipe. My throat was so full of timed slimer and ectoplasm, the Da Vinci load was seeping down my chin and onto my cans. After having my soft-shelled tuna taco pounded, he then proceeded to plow my marmite motorway. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my moose knuckle still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his clunger had other ideas. I can't wait to consume the love piss from his chubstep. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen leaching from my cocoa channel and all over my velcro triangle. The plowing of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his Nelson's Column deep in my cocoa channel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jebend probed deeper into my marmite motorway. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his love lollipop made my fallopian fish stock leach like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and baby gravy in my black hole created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With his brie baton thrusting deep into my hatchet wound, the sensation of his flesh gordon smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. He blasted a giant sewer trout on my love bubbles just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! If I don't fluff the muff to get my shrimp sap draining from my hatchet wound, his thrill drill is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a hippo's yawn. There was creamy load oozing from his skeleton king and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. With my fishy flaps now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start plunging my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a colon cobra, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his skeleton king slamming my vaginal bacon buffet made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. When he removed his Ocean's 11 Inches 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 gobble the footlong fudge bullet off his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus.

  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 bearded haddock pasty and a squash up my cocoa channel. My carp cavity was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The unrelenting orgasms from his wrist-thick wand plowing my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. It was bliss having his battering ram plunged inside me again; stuffing my front bum with a 9-iron just didn't get my hatchet wound gushing like it used to. He dropped a giant stink pickle on my chesticles just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. With my furburger now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start shoving my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a toilet twinkie, I wondered? My mouth was so full of bald-headed yogurt slinger and Da Vinci load, the creamy load was trickling down my chin and onto my mammaries. I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring still dribbling. I thought it was over but his brie baton had other ideas. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. The feeling of his Da Vinci load dripping down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip. By now, my south mouth was trickling like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy draining from my turd cutter and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. Inserting an antique doorknob into my whispering eye got me spouting vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip. There was baby gravy dripping from his gristle missile and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his blind butler made my shrimp sap drain like a jizz waterfall. I can't wait to suck the love piss from his bald-headed yogurt slinger. If I don't study english cliterature to get my sex wee foaming from my wunder down under, his piss pipe is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a twisted slipper. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock custard in my Oxo orifice created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. After having my chlamydia canal plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my tradesman's entrance. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! The hammering makes me pour my fallopian fish stock all over his brie baton. With his batter blaster fucking deep into my enchilada of love, the sensation of his long-dong silver smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his clunger rammed deeper into my brown eye. When he removed his huge penis from my shit winker, 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 toilet twinkie off his wrist-thick wand. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his throbbing quim dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.

  The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and steamin' semen in my Oxo orifice created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. My mound of love pudding was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Inserting a number of chillies into my south mouth got me spritzing clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. The pounding makes me squirt my shrimp sap all over his devil's bagpipe. When he removed his chorizo howitzer 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 butt nugget off his Ocean's 11 Inches. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blind butler rammed deeper into my tradesman's entrance. He launched a giant Mr. Hanky on my top bollocks just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his turgid terror truncheon made my sex wee drain like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. It was bliss having his jade rod rammed inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my split peach pouring like it used to. The plowing of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his clunger deep in my mud flap. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my pink velvet sausage wallet and a lightbulb up my shit winker. My throat was so full of sperminator and cock custard, the cock snot was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my top bollocks. The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy slimelight plowing my gaping clam cavern made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen weeping from my vintage golf bag and all over my velcro triangle. By now, my carp cavity was dripping like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. I awoke the next morning with my one slice toaster still oozing. I thought it was over but his spam javelin had other ideas. With his bugger king fucking deep into my pink velvet sausage wal
let, the sensation of his skeleton king smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. After having my whispering eye raided, he then proceeded to thrust my old dirt road. With my velcro triangle now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start ramming my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The feeling of his penis pudding dripping down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. If I don't fluff the muff to get my flange custard dripping from my ruby cave, his womb raider is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a sand blasted tomato. I can't wait to gobble the magician's wax from his skin flute. There was penis pudding leaching from his cunt stretcher 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 all-beef thermometer rammed deeper into my turd cutter. He launched a giant Mr. Hanky on my love bubbles just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. After having my soft-shelled tuna taco fucked, he then proceeded to thrust my rusty bullet hole. When he removed his ample cock from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his bugger king. If I don't flick the bean to get my sex wee weeping from my clam-flavoured pothole, his devil's bagpipe is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling Brian May's plughole. I awoke the next morning with my chamber of squelch still sliming. I thought it was over but his devil's bagpipe had other ideas. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his wrist-thick wand made my vertical moisture drain like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Inserting a squash into my cock holster got me surging flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! It was bliss having his bald avenger stuffed inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with a squash just didn't get my vibrator crater spattering like it used to. The feeling of his baby gravy trickling down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait to devour the baby gravy from his throbbing quim dagger. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his clunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My gaping clam cavern was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. My cake hole was so full of blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and steamin' semen, the ectoplasm was weeping down my chin and onto my twin peaks. With my panty hamster now much like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start sliding my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his Nelson's Column pounding my ruby cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. The thrusting of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his love muscle deep in my rusty sherif's badge. By now, my cum dumpster was leaking like a rabid dog. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky 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 mixture of Mr. Hanky and magician's wax in my brown eye created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The slamming makes me flood my clunge gunge all over his spunk-filled spam rocket. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot dribbling from my Oxo orifice and all over my fishy flaps. With his huge penis hammering deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his flesh gordon smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert.

  My shame portal was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. With his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon thrusting deep into my fuck trench, the sensation of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my frilling pink golf bag and a gerbil up my turd-herder. He launched a giant sewer trout on my tatas just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. By now, my gaping clam cavern was trickling like a broken fridge freezer. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! It was bliss having his meaty member stuffed inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia canal with a number of chillies just didn't get my front bum pouring like it used to. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his battering ram made my fallopian fish stock leak like a broken fridge freezer. The feeling of his cock custard frothing down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton spear plunged deeper into my fudge factory. The pounding of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his battering ram deep in my brown eye. After having my cum dumpster pounded, he then proceeded to pound my old dirt road. I awoke the next morning with my vibrator crater still seeping. I thought it was over but his long-dong silver had other ideas. The raiding makes me surge my minge monsoon all over his chorizo howitzer. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my slime hole got me spattering clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and magician's wax in my black hole created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my shrimp sap leaking from my penis pothole, his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a motorway pileup. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his jade rod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was penis pudding trickling from his stilton sword and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. When he removed his blue-veined custard chucker from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the Mr. Hanky off his wrist-thick wand. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald-headed yogurt slinger thrusting my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. With my clap flaps now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start shoving my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a colon cobra, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm seeping from my tradesman's entrance and all over my furburger. My throat was so full of sperminator and Da Vinci load, the Da Vinci load was dripping down my chin and onto my boobage.

  The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his wrist-thick wand soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my slime hole was dribbling like a slavering dog. He extruded a giant toilet twinkie on my rack just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. When he removed his spunk-filled spam rocket 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 gobble the Mr. Hanky off his Nelson's Column. Inserting an antique doorknob into my front bum got me surging tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. My throat was so full of balony pony and gentleman's relish, the creamy load was frothing down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. After having my sperm socket hammered, he then proceeded to raid my turd cutter. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his cream reaper made my tuna tunnel tears slobber like a rabid dog. With my vertical smile now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start sliding my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my wunder down under still oozing. I thought it was over but his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his slut slayer pounding
my Quimcy, M.E. made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my vibration station and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my brown mile. It was bliss having his muffbuster stuffed inside me again; stuffing my meat purse with an antique doorknob just didn't get my slime hole pouring like it used to. The fucking makes me spray my vertical moisture all over his kebeb skewer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat oozing from my fudge factory and all over my lunchmeat. The mixture of toilet twinkie and steamin' semen in my ring piece created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The feeling of his ectoplasm foaming down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My enchilada of love was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The thrusting of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his huge penis deep in my chocolate starfish. If I don't play the clitar to get my minge mucus dribbling from my calamari cockring, his tenderloin truncheon is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a stamped bat. With his womb ferret hammering deep into my slime hole, the sensation of his stilton spear smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. There was cock snot draining from his flesh gordon and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his batter blaster probed deeper into my brown mile. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! I can't wait to devour the love piss from his muffbuster.