The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his jebend soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The pounding makes me spray my minge mucus all over his throbbing quim dagger. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my sperm socket and an antique doorknob up my rusty sherif's badge. There was love piss leaching from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. My carp cavity was trembling 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 bugger king made my flange custard trickle like a rabid dog. When he removed his spam javelin from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the footlong fudge bullet off his cunt plunger. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ramrod plunged deeper into my tradesman's entrance. I can't wait to chow down on the love mayonnaise from his clunger. I awoke the next morning with my cod canyon still weeping. I thought it was over but his meaty member had other ideas. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. He extruded a giant Mr. Hanky on my mammaries just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. My cake hole was so full of wrist-thick wand and gentleman's relish, the man fat was frothing down my chin and onto my twin peaks. With my velcro triangle now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start sliding my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his thrill drill slamming my Quimcy, M.E. made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. After having my quim pounded, he then proceeded to slam my old dirt road. The thrusting of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his veiny quim prod deep in my tradesman's entrance. The mixture of toilet twinkie and love mayonnaise in my old dirt road created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my minge monsoon seeping from my fuck trench, his vein cane is going to leave my spam castanets resembling Pete Burns' lips. With his master of ceremonies hammering deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his one-eyed milkman smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. By now, my salmon slit was seeping like a slug in a salt mine. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard oozing from my fudge factory and all over my beef curtains. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher rammed inside me again; stuffing my moose knuckle with my fist just didn't get my vibration station flowing like it used to. The feeling of his gentleman's relish haemorrhaging down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Inserting an antique doorknob into my tuna canal got me surging clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel.

  Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! There was man fat frothing from his batter blaster and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. My south mouth was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his jebend made my tuna tunnel tears leach like a leaky tap. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ample cock plunged deeper into my cocoa channel. The feeling of his man fat oozing down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my tampon tunnel still foaming. I thought it was over but his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had other ideas. Inserting a 9-iron into my cod canyon got me spattering minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his pink tractor beam from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the footlong fudge bullet off his master of ceremonies. By now, my ladytown was weeping like a leaky tap. If I don't flick the bean to get my clunge gunge foaming from my wunder down under, his wrist-thick wand is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a blind cobbler's thumb. The hammering makes me splurge my vertical moisture all over his greasy kebab skewer. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his Ocean's 11 Inches soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The raiding of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his one-eyed monster deep in my poop chute. He pinched off a giant colon cobra on my chesticles just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. My cake hole was so full of battering ram and ectoplasm, the love piss was flowing down my chin and onto my cans. The mixture of butt nugget and penis pudding in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. 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 squash in my wizards sleeve and a 9-iron up my puckered brown eye. I can't wait to gobble the cock custard from his bugger king. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start plunging my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon raiding my herring hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. It was bliss having his blue-veined custard chucker shoved inside me again; stuffing my wizards sleeve with my fist just didn't get my gammon alley splurging like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen foaming from my old dirt road and all over my clap flaps. After having my clearing in the woods fucked, he then proceeded to plow my rusty sherif's badge.

  After having my gaping clam cavern slammed, he then proceeded to pound my cocoa channel. I can't wait to suck the penis pudding from his long-dong silver. The feeling of his magician's wax sliming down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. With my lunchmeat now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start shoving my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a butt nugget, I wondered? Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his pink tractor beam made my pussy batter leach like a jizz waterfall. There was ectoplasm frothing from his all-beef thermometer and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still dribbling. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. By now, my fuck gutter was dribbling like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. It was bliss having his gristle missile slid inside me again; stuffing my whispering eye with a number of chillies just didn't get my split peach spritzing like it used to. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my minge mucus trickling from my tampon tunnel, his bald-headed yogurt slinger is going to leave my spam castanets resembling the Japanese flag. The slamming makes me spit my minge mucus all over his stilton spear. With his long-dong silver thrusting deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his turgid terror truncheon smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. When he removed his chubstep from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the colon cobra off his Nelson's Column. He curled a giant stink pickle on my mosquito bites just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My throat was so full of one-eyed milkman and Da Vinci load, the baby gravy was leaching down my chin and onto my tatas. Inserting a barbie doll into my south mouth got me spraying spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a werewolf with it's throat cut, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my whispering eye and a lightbulb up my brown eye. The slamming of my ring piece was so v
igorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his Ocean's 11 Inches deep in my ring piece. The unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver hammering my clearing in the woods made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. The mixture of toilet twinkie and love mayonnaise in my Oxo orifice created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jebend plunged deeper into my turd cutter. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his bugger king soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load seeping from my brown eye and all over my open-faced ham sandwich.

  Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax trickling from my shit winker and all over my spam castanets. My throat was so full of kebeb skewer and man fat, the love mayonnaise was draining down my chin and onto my tatas. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. The plowing of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his cheese-crusted cock deep in my other vagina. The mixture of sewer trout and cock custard in my balloon knot created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. By now, my penis pothole was flowing like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. He extruded a giant footlong fudge bullet on my rack just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. With his spam dagger raiding deep into my wizards sleeve, the sensation of his slut slayer smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. The feeling of his ectoplasm dripping down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his tallywacker soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my meat purse and a lightbulb up my vintage golf bag. I awoke the next morning with my salmon slit still trickling. I thought it was over but his brie baton had other ideas. I can't wait to consume the gentleman's relish from his Ocean's 11 Inches. It was bliss having his stilton sword rammed inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with a lightbulb just didn't get my vibrator crater surging like it used to. My salmon slit was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Inserting a 9-iron into my enchilada of love got me flowing beige slime faster than snot off a whip. When he removed his spam dagger from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the butt nugget off his thrill drill. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his gristle missile rammed deeper into my cocoa channel. With my hairy goblet now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start plunging my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his wensleydale wand made my tuna tunnel tears flow like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! After having my ground zero grotto raided, he then proceeded to slam my rusty sherif's badge. There was penis pudding trickling from his huge penis and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy slimelight plowing my enchilada of love made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. The pounding makes me spout my pussy batter all over his ample cock.

  The thrusting makes me spray my flange custard all over his kebeb skewer. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bald-headed yogurt slinger probed deeper into my rusty bullet hole. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my cock holster got me surging vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My cake hole was so full of chorizo howitzer and man fat, the ectoplasm was foaming down my chin and onto my love bubbles. It was bliss having his pink tractor beam probed inside me again; stuffing my shamevelope with an egg timer just didn't get my wunder down under flowing like it used to. I can't wait to suck the creamy load from his clunger. I awoke the next morning with my quim still oozing. I thought it was over but his tallywacker had other ideas. The feeling of his magician's wax slobbering down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his womb ferret soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't play the clitar to get my minge mucus leaking from my cod canyon, his bugger king is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a ripped out fireplace. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and Da Vinci load in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He pitched a giant hardened fudge nugget on my droopies just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. By now, my spunk dungeon was draining like a broken coffee maker. When he removed his blue-veined custard chucker from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the hardened fudge nugget off his pink tractor beam. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The hammering of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his love lollipop deep in my brown mile. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding seeping from my rusty bullet hole and all over my fishy flaps. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his one-eyed monster made my minge mucus flow like a slavering dog. With my spam castanets now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start plunging my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? With his chubstep raiding deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his jade rod smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. After having my hot pocket thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my brown mile. There was man fat draining from his huge penis and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his bugger king plowing my sperm socket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my clam-flavoured pothole and a lightbulb up my marmite motorway.

  I awoke the next morning with my enchilada of love still foaming. I thought it was over but his sperminator had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy haemorrhaging from my other vagina and all over my spam castanets. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! I can't wait to consume the creamy load from his stilton spear. After having my quim slammed, he then proceeded to fuck my turd-herder. Inserting a lightbulb into my municipal cockwash got me squirting sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The unrelenting orgasms from his throbbing quim dagger slamming my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. My mouth was so full of batter blaster and love piss, the man fat was slobbering down my chin and onto my tatas. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his one-eyed milkman soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He pinched off a giant Mr. Hanky on my love bubbles just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. If I don't strum the banjo to get my fallopian fish stock foaming from my wunder down under, his purple beaver buster is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a manatee in yoga pants. By now, my shame portal was flowing like a rabid dog. The thrusting makes me surge my fallopian fish stock all over his long-dong silver. My cock holster was trembling like a shitting dog. With his cervix cigar fucking deep into my enchilada of love, the sensation of his cumtree smashing my cervix made me qu
iver like jelly. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his greasy kebab skewer probed deeper into my cocoa channel. The mixture of butt nugget and steamin' semen in my soft tight anus created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his chorizo howitzer made my beige slime haemorrhage like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. With my clap flaps now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start plunging my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The slamming of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his womb raider deep in my cocoa channel. When he removed his gristle missile from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the hardened fudge nugget off his spam dagger. There was cock snot trickling from his thrill drill and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my cod canyon and a lightbulb up my brown eye. The feeling of his Da Vinci load slobbering down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his turgid terror truncheon stuffed inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my gaping clam cavern gushing like it used to.