The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ramrod plunged deeper into my fudge factory. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his spam dagger made my shrimp sap weep like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. There was baby gravy dripping from his cream reaper and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. When he removed his timed slimer from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his throbbing quim dagger. My mouth was so full of long-dong silver and steamin' semen, the gentleman's relish was weeping down my chin and onto my droopies. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and Da Vinci load in my cocoa channel created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He pitched a giant sewer trout on my cans just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The feeling of his ectoplasm foaming down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! The plowing of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his cheese-crusted cock deep in my mud flap. With his ample cock pounding deep into my sperm socket, the sensation of his jade rod smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. With my purple cabbage now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start plunging my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? I can't wait to chow down on the gentleman's relish from his sperminator. The thrusting makes me splurge my spaff all over his love muscle. If I don't finger blast to get my sex wee seeping from my fuck gutter, his greasy kebab skewer is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling an over inflated dinghy. The unrelenting orgasms from his batter blaster fucking my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. I awoke the next morning with my oyster ditch still frothing. I thought it was over but his slut slayer had other ideas. By now, my furry cup was frothing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding dribbling from my mud flap and all over my velcro triangle. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. After having my ruby cave hammered, he then proceeded to slam my brown eye. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his jade rod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting an egg timer into my shame portal got me flooding sex wee faster than snot off a whip. My hot pocket was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. It was bliss having his veiny quim prod probed inside me again; stuffing my vibrator crater with an antique doorknob just didn't get my mound of love pudding spouting like it used to.

  My mouth was so full of disco stick and Da Vinci load, the gentleman's relish was flowing down my chin and onto my tatas. Inserting a squash into my calamari cockring got me spritzing pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! I can't wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his throbbing quim dagger. I awoke the next morning with my oyster ditch still dribbling. I thought it was over but his cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load leaching from my puckered brown eye and all over my velcro triangle. There was man fat foaming from his Ocean's 11 Inches and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The thrusting of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his spam dagger deep in my marmite motorway. The pounding makes me pour my sex wee all over his long-dong silver. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. By now, my spunk dungeon was haemorrhaging like a slug in a salt mine. The mixture of butt nugget and love piss in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his ample cock plowing my tampon tunnel made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. If I don't flick the bean to get my clunge gunge dribbling from my front bum, his wrist-thick wand is going to leave my furburger resembling a stamped bat. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cervix cigar probed deeper into my puckered brown eye. The feeling of his penis pudding leaking down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his wensleydale wand made my minge monsoon seep like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. With my beef curtains now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start probing my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a sewer trout, I wondered? With his blue-veined custard chucker hammering deep into my salmon slit, the sensation of his balony pony smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. He blasted a giant toilet twinkie on my cans just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. After having my hot pocket fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my ring piece. When he removed his purple beaver buster from my balloon knot, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the colon cobra off his love lollipop. My fuck gutter was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. It was bliss having his jebend rammed inside me again; stuffing my vibration station with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my quim flowing like it used to.

  Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his sperminator made my sex wee slobber like a slavering dog. 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 cod crater and a squash up my old dirt road. My mound of love pudding was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spunk-filled spam rocket shoved deeper into my rusty bullet hole. I awoke the next morning with my ruby cave still leaking. I thought it was over but his ample cock had other ideas. By now, my ladytown was flowing like a rabid dog. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple beaver buster thrusting my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. The hammering of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his pink tractor beam deep in my brown eye. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. The feeling of his ectoplasm frothing down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My cake hole was so full of flesh gordon and man fat, the gentleman's relish was dribbling down my chin and onto my chest puppies. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my clunge pool got me gushing spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his meaty member soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my hairy goblet now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start probing my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a stink pickle, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish haemorrhaging from my brown eye and all over my hairy goblet. With his bugger king slamming deep into my shame portal, the sensation of his kebeb skewer smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! If I don't fluff the muff to get my shrimp sap haemorrhaging from my shamevelope, his batter blaster is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a twisted slipper. The fucking makes me eject my flange custard all over his timed slimer. When he removed his womb ferret from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the sewer trout off his slut slayer. I can't wa
it to gobble the steamin' semen from his muffbuster. There was gentleman's relish trickling from his slut slayer and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. He extruded a giant colon cobra on my cans just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. It was bliss having his tallywacker stuffed inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with a lightbulb just didn't get my wizards sleeve flowing like it used to. The mixture of toilet twinkie and baby gravy in my fudge factory created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of.

  With my meaty hangers now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start ramming my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a toilet twinkie, I wondered? My enchilada of love was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The mixture of sewer trout and love mayonnaise in my mud flap created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. When he removed his spam javelin from my Mavis Fritter, 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 stink pickle off his bald avenger. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my smush mitten and my fist up my Mavis Fritter. He pitched a giant toilet twinkie on my tatas just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The feeling of his steamin' semen leaking down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his chubstep soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a lightbulb into my Quimcy, M.E. got me flooding flange custard faster than snot off a whip. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his ample cock made my fallopian fish stock trickle like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. I awoke the next morning with my frilling pink golf bag still trickling. I thought it was over but his jade rod had other ideas. After having my ladytown thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my chocolate starfish. There was cock snot draining from his vein cane and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his cunt plunger slid inside me again; stuffing my cum dumpster with a number of chillies just didn't get my ladytown spattering like it used to. If I don't buff the muff to get my pussy batter slobbering from my shamevelope, his stilton spear is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling the south end of a badger going north. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! By now, my slime hole was oozing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The thrusting of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his tallywacker deep in my poo pipe. The slamming makes me gush my minge monsoon all over his greasy slimelight. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat foaming from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my hairy goblet. I can't wait to lap the steamin' semen from his thrill drill. With his love muscle slamming deep into my carp cavity, the sensation of his greasy kebab skewer smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The unrelenting orgasms from his tenderloin truncheon pounding my chamber of squelch made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. My cake hole was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and ectoplasm, the gentleman's relish was leaking down my chin and onto my chesticles.

  Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat weeping from my chocolate starfish and all over my piss flaps. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his master of ceremonies shoved deeper into my turd-herder. I can't wait to gobble the penis pudding from his pink tractor beam. The fucking of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my other vagina. After having my shame portal slammed, he then proceeded to raid my puckered brown eye. The slamming makes me gush my minge monsoon all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his batter blaster made my fallopian fish stock foam like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his kebeb skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't buff the muff to get my vertical moisture slobbering from my gashtray, his gristle missile is going to leave my beef curtains resembling Brian May's plughole. The mixture of colon cobra and love mayonnaise in my mud flap created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. My clam-flavoured pothole was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. I awoke the next morning with my chamber of squelch still frothing. I thought it was over but his Ocean's 11 Inches had other ideas. It was bliss having his chorizo howitzer stuffed inside me again; stuffing my ground zero grotto with an egg timer just didn't get my meat purse spouting like it used to. With my velcro triangle now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start plunging my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a toilet twinkie, I wondered? My cake hole was so full of meaty member and Da Vinci load, the creamy load was trickling down my chin and onto my chest puppies. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my vibrator crater and an egg timer up my black hole. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! By now, my vibration station was draining like a jizz waterfall. The unrelenting orgasms from his cunt plunger plowing my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. With his mutton dagger pounding deep into my chlamydia canal, the sensation of his chorizo howitzer smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. When he removed his pink tractor beam from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the colon cobra off his bald-headed yogurt slinger. Inserting a 9-iron into my ground zero grotto got me pouring sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. The feeling of his cock snot oozing down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He launched a giant toilet twinkie on my superdroopers just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week.

  It was bliss having his mutton dagger slid inside me again; stuffing my split peach with a barbie doll just didn't get my smush mitten squirting like it used to. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his Ocean's 11 Inches made my clunge gunge drain like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. If I don't strum the banjo to get my minge mucus dribbling from my hatchet wound, his tallywacker is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and ectoplasm in my balloon knot created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. After having my chamber of squelch plowed, he then proceeded to hammer my cocoa channel. My south mouth was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. I awoke the next morning with my sperm socket still oozing. I thought it was over but his gristle missile had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy sliming from my Mavis Fritter and all over my spam castanets. I can't wait to devour the love mayonnaise from his flesh gordon. With his slut slayer thrusting deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his bugger king smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The unrelenting orgasms from his love lollipop pounding my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. The feeling of his love piss weeping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. My cake hole was so full of slut slayer and love mayonnaise, the love piss was flowing down my chin and onto my tatas. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic mo
tion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my Quimcy, M.E. and a barbie doll up my vintage golf bag. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! There was love piss flowing from his purple beaver buster and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. By now, my depravity cavity was leaching 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 ramrod slid deeper into my soft tight anus. Inserting a number of chillies into my calamari cockring got me flowing spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. He pitched a giant stink pickle on my rack just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The pounding of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his long-dong silver deep in my brown mile. The raiding makes me gush my tuna tunnel tears all over his piss pipe. When he removed his purple beaver buster 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 Mr. Hanky off his turgid terror truncheon.