The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  I awoke the next morning with my herring hole still trickling. I thought it was over but his greasy kebab skewer had other ideas. My herring hole was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The slamming of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his tenderloin truncheon deep in my other vagina. It was bliss having his devil's bagpipe probed inside me again; stuffing my pink velvet sausage wallet with a squash just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet spattering like it used to. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my enchilada of love and a number of chillies up my balloon knot. After having my pink velvet sausage wallet hammered, he then proceeded to plow my brown eye. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and man fat in my brown mile created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. If I don't study english cliterature to get my clunge gunge haemorrhaging from my meat purse, his tallywacker is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. By now, my quim was oozing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. With his washington monument fucking deep into my slime hole, the sensation of his one-eyed milkman smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. My mouth was so full of spam dagger and love piss, the gentleman's relish was frothing down my chin and onto my cans. I can't wait to consume the baby gravy from his muffbuster. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! Inserting a 9-iron into my stench trench got me spritzing beige slime faster than snot off a whip. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his cunt plunger made my sex wee weep like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The feeling of his ectoplasm dribbling down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The pounding makes me spit my clunge gunge all over his womb ferret. With my vertical garden now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start probing my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat sliming from my brown mile and all over my panty hamster. When he removed his chubstep from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the colon cobra off his giggle stick. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love lollipop rammed deeper into my brown mile. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton spear raiding my tampon tunnel made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his bald-headed yogurt slinger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He copped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my boobage just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge.

  Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! By now, my ruby cave was seeping like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. It was bliss having his blue-veined custard chucker plunged inside me again; stuffing my salmon slit with a squash just didn't get my mound of love pudding flooding 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 15" spiked vibrator in my cod crater and an antique doorknob up my tradesman's entrance. After having my depravity cavity thrusted, he then proceeded to fuck my old dirt road. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my clam-flavoured pothole got me gushing shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. The feeling of his steamin' semen foaming down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. When he removed his skin flute from my turd cutter, 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 corn-eyed butt snake off his cervix cigar. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his purple beaver buster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My mouth was so full of one-eyed milkman and ectoplasm, the cock snot was draining down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. I can't wait to chow down on the ectoplasm from his brie baton. The fucking makes me eject my vertical moisture all over his blue-veined custard chucker. I awoke the next morning with my slime hole still seeping. I thought it was over but his skeleton king had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish trickling from my other vagina and all over my roast beef platter. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tallywacker stuffed deeper into my fudge factory. My gaping clam cavern was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. If I don't flick the bean to get my clunge gunge leaking from my frilling pink golf bag, his spunk-filled spam rocket is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a gutted trout. With my purple cabbage now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start sliding my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his brie baton made my minge monsoon drain like a slug in a salt mine. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock snot in my fudge factory created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With his blue-veined custard chucker slamming deep into my vibrator crater, the sensation of his bald-headed yogurt slinger smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. The unrelenting orgasms from his Ocean's 11 Inches slamming my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. The hammering of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his stilton spear deep in my soft tight anus. He pitched a giant footlong fudge bullet on my chest puppies just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge.

  Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load foaming from my balloon knot and all over my hairy goblet. My enchilada of love was trembling like jelly. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The feeling of his ectoplasm draining down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start plunging my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? It was bliss having his master of ceremonies slid inside me again; stuffing my hatchet wound with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my cod cave spouting like it used to. My throat was so full of batter blaster and love mayonnaise, the baby gravy was slobbering down my chin and onto my love bubbles. By now, my moose knuckle was trickling like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his tenderloin truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my shame portal still seeping. I thought it was over but his spam dagger had other ideas. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his purple beaver buster made my sex wee drain like a slavering dog. If I don't strum the banjo to get my shrimp sap weeping from my depravity cavity, his timed slimer is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a badly wrapped kebab. The pounding makes me splurge my pussy batter all over his spam dagger. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! The thrusting of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his purple beaver buster deep in my other vagina. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cervix cigar probed deeper into my turd-herder. After having my vaginal bacon buffet plowed, he then proceeded to pound my brown eye. Inserting an antique doorknob into my front bum got me flowing pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my Quimcy
, M.E. and a lightbulb up my balloon knot. With his cumtree hammering deep into my fuck trench, the sensation of his spam javelin smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and cock custard in my soft tight anus created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. There was penis pudding dripping from his cheese-crusted cock and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his slut slayer thrusting my quim made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. When he removed his one-eyed milkman from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the hardened fudge nugget off his one-eyed milkman. I can't wait to consume the cock custard from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon.

  I can't wait to gobble the love piss from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. With my fishy flaps now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start plunging my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his mutton dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my cod cave slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my tradesman's entrance. When he removed his mutton dagger from my turd-herder, 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 Nelson's Column. My sperm socket was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my clunge gunge trickling from my clam-flavoured pothole, his thrill drill is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a rabid baboon's arse. The slamming makes me spit my spaff all over his long-dong silver. He crowned a giant toilet twinkie on my mammaries just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The unrelenting orgasms from his wrist-thick wand pounding my Quimcy, M.E. made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his one-eyed monster shoved deeper into my fudge factory. I awoke the next morning with my tampon tunnel still weeping. I thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his womb raider made my minge monsoon ooze like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my smush mitten got me surging fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! The raiding of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his turgid terror truncheon deep in my turd cutter. The mixture of toilet twinkie and creamy load in my shit winker created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. My cake hole was so full of cheese-crusted cock and love piss, the ectoplasm was frothing down my chin and onto my superdroopers. By now, my clearing in the woods was haemorrhaging like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. With his womb raider slamming deep into my cod canyon, the sensation of his devil's bagpipe smashing my cervix made me quake 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 my fist in my gaping clam cavern and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my turd cutter. There was cock snot haemorrhaging from his wrist-thick wand and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his skin flute slid inside me again; stuffing my ladytown with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my carp cavity flooding like it used to. The feeling of his cock snot dribbling down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip.

  Inserting a barbie doll into my pink velvet sausage wallet got me spraying flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was cock custard draining from his ramrod and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. By now, my ladytown was foaming like a broken fridge freezer. After having my vibrator crater fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my mud flap. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his one-eyed monster rammed deeper into my balloon knot. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his chubstep hammering my ladytown made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. It was bliss having his love lollipop shoved inside me again; stuffing my whispering eye with a 9-iron just didn't get my clam-flavoured pothole spritzing like it used to. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. When he removed his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus 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 consume the colon cobra off his purple beaver buster. If I don't buff the muff to get my tuna tunnel tears leaching from my tuna canal, his washington monument is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a ripped out fireplace. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and Da Vinci load in my turd cutter created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With my roast beef platter now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start sliding my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a toilet twinkie, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my whispering eye still seeping. I thought it was over but his purple beaver buster had other ideas. I can't wait to chow down on the baby gravy from his veiny quim prod. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his jebend made my sex wee slime like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. My cake hole was so full of thrill drill and magician's wax, the gentleman's relish was draining down my chin and onto my love bubbles. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish oozing from my turd-herder and all over my velcro triangle. He eased out a giant hardened fudge nugget on my rack just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With his purple beaver buster raiding deep into my clam-flavoured pothole, the sensation of his disco stick smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The raiding makes me flood my flange custard all over his sperminator. The raiding of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his Nelson's Column deep in my fudge factory. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his womb ferret soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my hatchet wound and an egg timer up my brown eye. My front bum was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.

  I awoke the next morning with my chlamydia canal still seeping. I thought it was over but his chorizo howitzer had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his disco stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my salmon slit was frothing like a jizz waterfall. If I don't buff the muff to get my clunge gunge leaking from my fuck gutter, his jebend is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a manatee in yoga pants. It was bliss having his thrill drill rammed inside me again; stuffing my whispering eye with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my cum dumpster spraying like it used to. The mixture of stink pickle and Da Vinci load in my ring piece created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm trickling from my mud flap and all over my vertical garden. The thrusting makes me splurge my vertical moisture all over his stilton spear. My mouth was so full of throbbing quim dagger and penis pudding, the penis pudding was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my love bubbles. When he removed his chubstep from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the corn-eyed butt snake off his one-eyed milkman. The raiding of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his spam dagger
deep in my black hole. With my vertical garden now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start sliding my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Inserting a barbie doll into my tampon tunnel got me spraying clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his love lollipop slamming deep into my split peach, the sensation of his tallywacker smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. 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 oyster ditch and an antique doorknob up my marmite motorway. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his timed slimer plunged deeper into my poo pipe. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. There was magician's wax flowing from his bugger king and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. After having my gaping clam cavern hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my poop chute. I can't wait to gobble the love mayonnaise from his ramrod. He extruded a giant hardened fudge nugget on my sweater puppies just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The unrelenting orgasms from his tenderloin truncheon plowing my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. My front bum was trembling like jelly. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his stilton sword made my shrimp sap flow like a jizz waterfall. The feeling of his baby gravy leaking down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker 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 my fist in my Quimcy, M.E. and a gerbil up my fart valve. I can't wait to consume the ectoplasm from his vein cane. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword thrusting my tampon tunnel made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his vein cane soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The thrusting of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his one-eyed milkman deep in my chocolate starfish. With his giggle stick fucking deep into my gaping clam cavern, the sensation of his bald-headed yogurt slinger smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen dribbling from my fart valve and all over my spam castanets. The feeling of his baby gravy slobbering down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. When he removed his chorizo howitzer from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the colon cobra off his giggle stick. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb raider stuffed deeper into my soft tight anus. It was bliss having his kebeb skewer shoved inside me again; stuffing my wunder down under with a number of chillies just didn't get my salmon slit gushing like it used to. He crowned a giant butt nugget on my cans just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. After having my depravity cavity thrusted, he then proceeded to fuck my brown eye. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my shamevelope still leaking. I thought it was over but his meaty member had other ideas. The mixture of stink pickle and cock snot in my balloon knot created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. My throat was so full of purple beaver buster and cock custard, the Da Vinci load was weeping down my chin and onto my superdroopers. If I don't finger blast to get my minge monsoon draining from my oyster ditch, his blue-veined custard chucker is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a hippo's yawn. My gammon alley was trembling like a shitting dog. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his mutton dagger made my beige slime drain like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! By now, my stench trench was seeping like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. There was cock custard oozing from his brie baton and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The fucking makes me spray my tuna tunnel tears all over his throbbing quim dagger. With my velcro triangle now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start shoving my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered?