The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  I can't wait to devour the baby gravy from his cream reaper. The thrusting of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his womb raider deep in my tradesman's entrance. After having my bearded haddock pasty slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my balloon knot. The feeling of his creamy load leaking down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my stench trench still frothing. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand had other ideas. He copped a giant butt nugget on my breasticles just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his clunger made my clunge gunge ooze like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The mixture of butt nugget and love mayonnaise in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. My frilling pink golf bag was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my minge monsoon haemorrhaging from my vaginal bacon buffet, his timed slimer is going to leave my piss flaps resembling the Japanese flag. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his muffbuster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his purple-headed trouser snake stuffed inside me again; stuffing my depravity cavity with a gerbil just didn't get my split peach ejecting like it used to. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my cod crater and a 9-iron up my tradesman's entrance. There was penis pudding flowing from his veiny quim prod and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my penis pothole got me pouring minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his flesh gordon 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 gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his love muscle. With his tallywacker hammering deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his thrill drill smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. The plowing makes me spritz my clunge gunge all over his veiny quim prod. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax dripping from my tradesman's entrance and all over my clap flaps. By now, my quim was dripping like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. With my fishy flaps now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start ramming my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a colon cobra, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his devil's bagpipe plowing my calamari cockring made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. My throat was so full of cheese-crusted cock and ectoplasm, the baby gravy was dripping down my chin and onto my boobage.

  My throat was so full of cunt stretcher and man fat, the love piss was frothing down my chin and onto my tatas. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. After having my enchilada of love pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my soft tight anus. By now, my spunk dungeon was foaming like a broken coffee maker. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my kipper dinghy and an egg timer up my poo pipe. My salmon slit was trembling like a rat on acid. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his wrist-thick wand made my tuna tunnel tears froth like a leaky tap. With my velcro triangle now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start stuffing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a butt nugget, I wondered? With his bugger king pounding deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his brie baton smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen frothing from my old dirt road and all over my panty hamster. The hammering of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his veiny quim prod deep in my fart valve. It was bliss having his washington monument slid inside me again; stuffing my split peach with a lightbulb just didn't get my bearded haddock pasty spritzing like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his wrist-thick wand slid deeper into my Oxo orifice. When he removed his batter blaster from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the hardened fudge nugget off his stilton spear. The feeling of his ectoplasm dripping down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The hammering makes me squirt my sex wee all over his tallywacker. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his kebeb skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my kipper dinghy got me splurging fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. He extruded a giant Mr. Hanky on my superdroopers just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and baby gravy in my cocoa channel created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. If I don't flick the bean to get my pussy batter flowing from my depravity cavity, his kebeb skewer is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling Terry Waite's allotment. I awoke the next morning with my ruby cave still dripping. I thought it was over but his gristle missile had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his Ocean's 11 Inches slamming my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. I can't wait to gobble the gentleman's relish from his all-beef thermometer. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different!

  By now, my south mouth was leaching like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. There was penis pudding trickling from his all-beef thermometer and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. I can't wait to lap the steamin' semen from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. After having my chlamydia canal thrusted, he then proceeded to fuck my Oxo orifice. The unrelenting orgasms from his huge penis hammering my Quimcy, M.E. made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his Ocean's 11 Inches made my shrimp sap drip like a broken coffee maker. It was bliss having his stilton sword rammed inside me again; stuffing my penis pothole with an antique doorknob just didn't get my ground zero grotto pouring like it used to. Inserting a 9-iron into my salmon slit got me spraying vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip. If I don't play the clitar to get my spaff slobbering from my south mouth, his womb ferret is going to leave my panty hamster resembling that bathroom door in The Shining. The slamming of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his pink tractor beam deep in my Mavis Fritter. When he removed his blind butler from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the sewer trout off his cunt plunger. I awoke the next morning with my shamevelope still draining. I thought it was over but his gristle missile had other ideas. He curled a giant stink pickle on my chesticles just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and penis pudding in my soft tight anus created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With his ramrod fucking deep into my enchilada of love, the sensation of his spam javelin smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. The feeling of his ectoplasm leaching down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen flowing from my fart valve and all over my purple cabbage. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Ocean's 11 Inches plunged deeper into my marmite motorway. The hammering makes me spray my flange custard all over his wensleydale wand. With my meaty hangers now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start stuffing my poo pipe.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? My vibrator crater was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his mutton dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. My mouth was so full of cream reaper and penis pudding, the creamy load was leaching down my chin and onto my mammaries. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my front bum and a barbie doll up my balloon knot.

  The unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper hammering my Quimcy, M.E. made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. He copped a giant stink pickle on my tatas just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The plowing of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my Mavis Fritter. I can't wait to devour the love mayonnaise from his wensleydale wand. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. With my hairy goblet now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start stuffing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? My gammon alley was trembling like a rat on acid. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm seeping from my chocolate starfish and all over my meaty hangers. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cumtree plunged deeper into my tradesman's entrance. With his blue-veined custard chucker slamming deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his wrist-thick wand smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my cod crater and a lightbulb up my tradesman's entrance. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! The mixture of butt nugget and cock snot in my mud flap created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The feeling of his steamin' semen flowing down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon made my sex wee dribble like a broken coffee maker. By now, my south mouth was weeping like a slug in a salt mine. After having my chlamydia canal hammered, he then proceeded to fuck my Mavis Fritter. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his sperminator soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't study english cliterature to get my pussy batter draining from my carp cavity, his brie baton is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a gutted trout. The hammering makes me pour my sex wee all over his vein cane. I awoke the next morning with my stench trench still sliming. I thought it was over but his jebend had other ideas. Inserting a number of chillies into my front bum got me pouring vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip. There was steamin' semen sliming from his gristle missile and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. My cake hole was so full of jebend and steamin' semen, the ectoplasm was trickling down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. It was bliss having his mutton dagger plunged inside me again; stuffing my clam-flavoured pothole with a barbie doll just didn't get my wunder down under flooding like it used to.

  The mixture of butt nugget and ectoplasm in my other vagina created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't finger blast to get my flange custard draining from my Quimcy, M.E., his cream reaper is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a shot cat. I can't wait to consume the gentleman's relish from his stilton spear. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my ground zero grotto and an antique doorknob up my shit winker. With my piss flaps now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start sliding my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a sewer trout, I wondered? He eased out a giant sewer trout on my droopies just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. When he removed his kebeb skewer from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the toilet twinkie off his thrill drill. My ruby cave was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. By now, my hatchet wound was seeping like a slug in a salt mine. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his gristle missile made my minge mucus haemorrhage like a George Foreman grill. I awoke the next morning with my smush mitten still frothing. I thought it was over but his jade rod had other ideas. The feeling of his creamy load oozing down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt stretcher rammed deeper into my fart valve. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his cheese-crusted cock soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his brie baton hammering deep into my smush mitten, the sensation of his vein cane smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. It was bliss having his bald avenger rammed inside me again; stuffing my hot pocket with a squash just didn't get my shame portal flowing like it used to. The hammering of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his flesh gordon deep in my old dirt road. Inserting an antique doorknob into my vaginal bacon buffet got me ejecting beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The plowing makes me spout my minge mucus all over his wensleydale wand. After having my moose knuckle slammed, he then proceeded to thrust my brown eye. My throat was so full of cumtree and cock snot, the magician's wax was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my love bubbles. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard draining from my poop chute and all over my piss flaps. There was creamy load draining from his all-beef thermometer and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more.

  After having my municipal cockwash plowed, he then proceeded to slam my Oxo orifice. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my south mouth and a 15" spiked vibrator up my turd cutter. With my fishy flaps now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start stuffing my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a toilet twinkie, I wondered? Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my Quimcy, M.E. got me pouring minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher plunged inside me again; stuffing my ground zero grotto with an antique doorknob just didn't get my sperm socket splurging like it used to. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his gristle missile made my spaff ooze like a leaky tap. He extruded a giant sewer trout on my tatas just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I awoke the next morning with my gashtray still slobbering. I thought it was over but his greasy slimelight had other ideas. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! My whispering eye was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax draining from my fart valve and all over my panty hamster. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of jebend and love mayonnaise, the love mayonnaise was trickling down my chin and onto my love bubbles. By now, my carp cavity was foaming like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The mixture of stink pickle and cock snot in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With his stilton sword plo
wing deep into my tuna canal, the sensation of his one-eyed monster smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my clunge gunge flowing from my clunge pool, his mutton dagger is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a gutted trout. The thrusting of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my shit winker. The raiding makes me flow my spaff all over his vein cane. When he removed his stilton sword from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the footlong fudge bullet off his purple beaver buster. I can't wait to consume the ectoplasm from his devil's bagpipe. The feeling of his gentleman's relish flowing down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bald-headed yogurt slinger plunged deeper into my balloon knot. There was creamy load weeping from his cunt stretcher and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more.

  Inserting a lightbulb into my vibrator crater got me pouring fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his wrist-thick wand probed inside me again; stuffing my stench trench with an egg timer just didn't get my herring hole spouting like it used to. There was baby gravy sliming from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The plowing makes me eject my flange custard all over his cumtree. By now, my smush mitten was leaching like a slug in a salt mine. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his veiny quim prod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The mixture of stink pickle and ectoplasm in my poop chute created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my clearing in the woods still seeping. I thought it was over but his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a badly wrapped kebab, and I was no different! My throat was so full of turgid terror truncheon and gentleman's relish, the love piss was frothing down my chin and onto my boobage. I can't wait to devour the cock custard from his cervix cigar. The unrelenting orgasms from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus hammering my front bum made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my wizards sleeve and a lightbulb up my ring piece. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish weeping from my mud flap and all over my beef curtains. My carp cavity was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. With my hairy goblet now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start sliding my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his master of ceremonies made my minge mucus ooze like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. He extruded a giant Mr. Hanky on my droopies just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The feeling of his penis pudding foaming down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The hammering of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his giggle stick deep in my rusty bullet hole. If I don't fluff the muff to get my spaff haemorrhaging from my frilling pink golf bag, his cunt plunger is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. With his spunk-filled spam rocket raiding deep into my vaginal bacon buffet, the sensation of his one-eyed monster smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. When he removed his jade rod 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 stink pickle off his womb raider. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cheese-crusted cock probed deeper into my marmite motorway.