The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  The mixture of toilet twinkie and magician's wax in my balloon knot created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I can't wait to devour the man fat from his long-dong silver. By now, my clam-flavoured pothole was weeping like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat trickling from my ring piece and all over my velcro triangle. With his Ocean's 11 Inches plowing deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The raiding makes me flood my clunge gunge all over his batter blaster. There was gentleman's relish foaming from his sperminator and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my vibrator crater and a squash up my brown mile. He rolled a giant hardened fudge nugget on my chest puppies just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. If I don't play the clitar to get my pussy batter sliming from my front bum, his Nelson's Column is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a twisted slipper. It was bliss having his tallywacker shoved inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my kipper dinghy splurging like it used to. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his gristle missile made my pussy batter foam like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. After having my meat purse slammed, he then proceeded to fuck my cocoa channel. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his flesh gordon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my vertical garden now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start stuffing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a colon cobra, I wondered? He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Inserting a lightbulb into my front bum got me gushing tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my sperm socket still sliming. I thought it was over but his greasy slimelight had other ideas. When he removed his cunt stretcher from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his Nelson's Column. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! The slamming of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his stilton sword deep in my rusty bullet hole. The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy slimelight raiding my sperm socket 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 Da Vinci load, the creamy load was dripping down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his one-eyed monster rammed deeper into my tradesman's entrance. The feeling of his Da Vinci load weeping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.

  Inserting a barbie doll into my cod crater got me splurging minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his washington monument raiding deep into my tampon tunnel, the sensation of his womb raider smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. My cake hole was so full of turgid terror truncheon and steamin' semen, the gentleman's relish was weeping down my chin and onto my boobage. After having my herring hole pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my fudge factory. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard leaking from my turd-herder and all over my clap flaps. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his vein cane made my fallopian fish stock dribble like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. It was bliss having his cumtree stuffed inside me again; stuffing my meat purse with a 9-iron just didn't get my clunge pool surging like it used to. If I don't fish for pearls to get my vertical moisture dripping from my vibrator crater, his womb raider is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling an over inflated dinghy. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his ramrod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my soft-shelled tuna taco still trickling. I thought it was over but his sperminator had other ideas. He curled a giant butt nugget on my tatas just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The feeling of his Da Vinci load sliming down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of colon cobra and ectoplasm in my turd-herder created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my Quimcy, M.E. and a number of chillies up my cocoa channel. By now, my clam-flavoured pothole was seeping like a George Foreman grill. My gashtray was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. There was cock custard leaching from his ample cock 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 ramrod slid deeper into my turd cutter. I can't wait to lap the love mayonnaise from his blind butler. The slamming of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his greasy slimelight deep in my Oxo orifice. The plowing makes me surge my beige slime all over his batter blaster. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his tenderloin truncheon slamming my frilling pink golf bag made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. When he removed his gristle missile from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his bald avenger.

  He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The mixture of colon cobra and Da Vinci load in my brown eye created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. By now, my wunder down under was draining like a leaky tap. My mouth was so full of one-eyed monster and Da Vinci load, the love piss was foaming down my chin and onto my mammaries. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his turgid terror truncheon slid deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. The pounding of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his clunger deep in my balloon knot. When he removed his thrill drill from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the Mr. Hanky off his pink tractor beam. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm weeping from my rusty bullet hole and all over my spam castanets. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! After having my calamari cockring slammed, he then proceeded to slam my vintage golf bag. The feeling of his baby gravy seeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My bearded haddock pasty was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. With my furburger now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start shoving my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? I can't wait to lap the ectoplasm from his vein cane. It was bliss having his tallywacker shoved inside me again; stuffing my hot pocket with a 9-iron just didn't get my cum dumpster surging like it used to. There was love piss dripping from his huge penis and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Inserting a barbie doll into my gashtray got me spouting flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my cock holster and a barbie doll up my fudge factory. I awoke the next morning with my spunk dungeon still leaking. I thought it was over but his devil's bagpipe had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his spam dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The fucking makes
me spout my fallopian fish stock all over his skeleton king. He eased out a giant hardened fudge nugget on my rack just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. If I don't finger blast to get my minge monsoon weeping from my wizards sleeve, his long-dong silver is going to leave my vertical smile resembling Brian May's plughole. The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod slamming my ruby cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his veiny quim prod made my beige slime foam like a rabid dog.

  It was bliss having his greasy slimelight slid inside me again; stuffing my cod cave with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my one slice toaster flooding like it used to. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! After having my ground zero grotto hammered, he then proceeded to slam my chocolate starfish. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load dripping from my mud flap and all over my lunchmeat. I awoke the next morning with my front bum still leaching. I thought it was over but his womb ferret had other ideas. With my piss flaps now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start stuffing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a butt nugget, I wondered? Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his giggle stick made my spaff dribble like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his huge penis probed deeper into my brown mile. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his love lollipop soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My cake hole was so full of cunt plunger and Da Vinci load, the gentleman's relish was leaking down my chin and onto my boobage. My stench trench was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. I can't wait to chow down on the Da Vinci load from his clunger. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. By now, my soft-shelled tuna taco was leaking like a broken fridge freezer. Inserting a 9-iron into my furry cup got me flowing minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. The mixture of colon cobra and baby gravy in my marmite motorway created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his jebend fucking my pink velvet sausage wallet made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my clunge gunge oozing from my fuck trench, his tenderloin truncheon is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. The pounding makes me flood my fallopian fish stock all over his devil's bagpipe. He dropped a giant hardened fudge nugget on my twin peaks just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With his tallywacker plowing deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his slut slayer smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my enchilada of love and a gerbil up my Oxo orifice. The feeling of his penis pudding draining down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The fucking of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his blue-veined custard chucker deep in my other vagina. When he removed his brie baton from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the stink pickle off his cream reaper.

  I awoke the next morning with my gashtray still foaming. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot draining from my mud flap and all over my furburger. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his wensleydale wand soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of devil's bagpipe and cock snot, the cock snot was leaking down my chin and onto my top bollocks. After having my herring hole fucked, he then proceeded to slam my marmite motorway. The mixture of stink pickle and creamy load in my chocolate starfish created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. By now, my furry cup was flowing like a jizz waterfall. My shame portal was trembling like a shitting dog. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his giggle stick made my fallopian fish stock drip like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. I can't wait to chow down on the cock custard from his spunk-filled spam rocket. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jebend rammed deeper into my soft tight anus. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick slamming my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Inserting a gerbil into my quim got me spraying shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. There was man fat trickling from his greasy kebab skewer and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. If I don't fluff the muff to get my pussy batter trickling from my vibrator crater, his ample cock is going to leave my furburger resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. With his timed slimer raiding deep into my wizards sleeve, the sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my mound of love pudding and a squash up my poo pipe. It was bliss having his wrist-thick wand stuffed inside me again; stuffing my spunk dungeon with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my oyster ditch spouting like it used to. He copped a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my mosquito bites just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The feeling of his gentleman's relish leaching down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. With my velcro triangle now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start ramming my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a stink pickle, I wondered? The pounding makes me spit my flange custard all over his veiny quim prod. The hammering of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his womb raider deep in my puckered brown eye.

  My mouth was so full of cream reaper and gentleman's relish, the gentleman's relish was oozing down my chin and onto my superdroopers. The feeling of his gentleman's relish dribbling down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword slamming my fuck trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. With his blind butler raiding deep into my tampon tunnel, the sensation of his washington monument smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. When he removed his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his flesh gordon. The slamming of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his all-beef thermometer deep in my Mavis Fritter. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his master of ceremonies soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My shame portal was trembling like a rat on acid. I can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his cheese-crusted cock. If I don't study english cliterature to get my minge mucus weeping from my hot pocket, his clunger is going to leave my vertical garden resembling Pete Burns' lips. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot slobbering from my puckered brown eye and all over my vertical garden. The pounding makes me spout my flange custard all over his vein cane. Inserting a gerbil into my stench trench got me surging tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. After having my fuck trench thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my shit winker. He extruded a giant butt nugget on my mosquito bites just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his muffbuster made my flange custard trickle like someone had poured
fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my fuck trench and a squash up my puckered brown eye. There was love mayonnaise sliming from his piss pipe and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. With my purple cabbage now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a stink pickle, I wondered? It was bliss having his vein cane shoved inside me again; stuffing my whispering eye with my fist just didn't get my cum dumpster squirting like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my clearing in the woods still frothing. I thought it was over but his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus had other ideas. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The mixture of sewer trout and penis pudding in my puckered brown eye created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cumtree shoved deeper into my brown mile. By now, my furry cup was oozing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls.