The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  I awoke the next morning with my tampon tunnel still slobbering. I thought it was over but his skin flute had other ideas. After having my smush mitten thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my fart valve. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his turgid terror truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He pitched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my superdroopers just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cream reaper slid deeper into my chocolate starfish. There was creamy load slobbering from his brie baton and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. With my beef curtains now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start shoving my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a stink pickle, I wondered? I can't wait to chow down on the love piss from his timed slimer. When he removed his Ocean's 11 Inches from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the corn-eyed butt snake off his wrist-thick wand. My mouth was so full of clunger and ectoplasm, the creamy load was weeping down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. The feeling of his love mayonnaise draining down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. If I don't play the clitar to get my sex wee dribbling from my shamevelope, his all-beef thermometer is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a badly wrapped kebab. By now, my split peach was seeping like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. With his flesh gordon slamming deep into my clunge pool, the sensation of his thrill drill smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his vein cane made my sex wee seep like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise frothing from my tradesman's entrance and all over my beef curtains. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and love piss in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. My vaginal bacon buffet was trembling like a shitting dog. It was bliss having his bald avenger slid inside me again; stuffing my clam-flavoured pothole with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my calamari cockring splurging like it used to. The slamming of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his greasy kebab skewer deep in my Mavis Fritter. 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 frilling pink golf bag and my fist up my cocoa channel. Inserting my fist into my wizards sleeve got me gushing fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. The pounding makes me spout my clunge gunge all over his turgid terror truncheon. The unrelenting orgasms from his cheese-crusted cock fucking my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot.

  My furry cup was trembling like jelly. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my wunder down under and a gerbil up my turd-herder. I awoke the next morning with my oyster ditch still leaching. I thought it was over but his womb raider had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his flesh gordon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his Da Vinci load dribbling down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My throat was so full of stilton spear and baby gravy, the man fat was oozing down my chin and onto my tatas. There was Da Vinci load haemorrhaging from his throbbing quim dagger and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The mixture of sewer trout and love piss in my puckered brown eye created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. With my vertical smile now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start ramming my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The hammering makes me spout my minge monsoon all over his turgid terror truncheon. Inserting a lightbulb into my stench trench got me squirting beige slime faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The thrusting of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his ramrod deep in my rusty bullet hole. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton spear plunged deeper into my mud flap. He dropped a giant butt nugget on my sweater puppies just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. I can't wait to suck the steamin' semen from his flesh gordon. By now, my sperm socket was slobbering like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot seeping from my turd cutter and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his cheese-crusted cock made my minge mucus trickle like a broken fridge freezer. With his batter blaster pounding deep into my frilling pink golf bag, the sensation of his turgid terror truncheon smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. If I don't fluff the muff to get my minge mucus sliming from my clam-flavoured pothole, his flesh gordon is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a clown's pocket. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. When he removed his huge penis from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the Mr. Hanky off his muffbuster. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile thrusting my moose knuckle made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. It was bliss having his huge penis rammed inside me again; stuffing my kipper dinghy with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my chamber of squelch pouring like it used to.

  Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! He cut a giant stink pickle on my rack just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With his turgid terror truncheon hammering deep into my municipal cockwash, the sensation of his tallywacker smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his greasy slimelight slid deeper into my chocolate starfish. My mouth was so full of all-beef thermometer and gentleman's relish, the steamin' semen was foaming down my chin and onto my chesticles. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his chorizo howitzer fucking my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. There was baby gravy slobbering from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The raiding makes me flood my shrimp sap all over his love muscle. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon made my clunge gunge drip like a hungry pig at a trough. By now, my kipper dinghy was frothing like a hungry pig at a trough. After having my salmon slit slammed, he then proceeded to thrust my brown mile. I can't wait to suck the cock snot from his thrill drill. Inserting a 9-iron into my meat purse got me surging beige slime faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and cock snot in my fart valve created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise weeping from my vintage golf bag and all over my beef curtains. If I don't tune the tuna to get my spaff leaching from my front bum, his mutton dagger is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a stuntman's knee. The feeling of his gentleman's relish seeping down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My cod cave was trembling like a rat on acid. When he removed his tenderloin truncheon from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring ba
ck as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the toilet twinkie off his disco stick. With my vertical garden now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start stuffing my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a colon cobra, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his stilton sword soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his greasy slimelight plunged inside me again; stuffing my clam-flavoured pothole with a 9-iron just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet spouting like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my fuck trench still frothing. I thought it was over but his love muscle had other ideas. 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 shame portal and a lightbulb up my balloon knot.

  My frilling pink golf bag was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. He copped a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my boobage just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. After having my smush mitten plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my marmite motorway. The feeling of his steamin' semen leaching down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his disco stick 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 9-iron in my depravity cavity and an antique doorknob up my soft tight anus. Inserting an antique doorknob into my bearded haddock pasty got me splurging pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My cake hole was so full of ramrod and love piss, the penis pudding was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my droopies. There was penis pudding draining from his stilton spear and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his Ocean's 11 Inches slid inside me again; stuffing my tuna canal with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my moose knuckle pouring like it used to. By now, my gaping clam cavern was sliming like a George Foreman grill. When he removed his wrist-thick wand from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his ample cock. I awoke the next morning with my ruby cave still flowing. I thought it was over but his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus had other ideas. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock snot in my other vagina created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. With my beef curtains now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start shoving my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a butt nugget, I wondered? Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my tuna tunnel tears oozing from my gammon alley, his meaty member is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a clown's pocket. The unrelenting orgasms from his mutton dagger hammering my cod crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish draining from my shit winker and all over my vertical garden. I can't wait to devour the love piss from his balony pony. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus rammed deeper into my black hole. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his blue-veined custard chucker made my vertical moisture haemorrhage like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The pounding makes me spout my shrimp sap all over his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. With his cervix cigar fucking deep into my fuck gutter, the sensation of his kebeb skewer smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid.

  The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. The feeling of his love mayonnaise leaking down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my slime hole still seeping. I thought it was over but his slut slayer had other ideas. Inserting a squash into my south mouth got me flowing tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The pounding makes me flood my tuna tunnel tears all over his wrist-thick wand. After having my vaginal bacon buffet hammered, he then proceeded to pound my turd-herder. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his all-beef thermometer made my shrimp sap flow like a hungry pig at a trough. The mixture of butt nugget and ectoplasm in my black hole created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. When he removed his tallywacker from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the corn-eyed butt snake off his battering ram. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my soft-shelled tuna taco and a 15" spiked vibrator up my old dirt road. He cut a giant sewer trout on my chest puppies just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. It was bliss having his pink tractor beam stuffed inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my furry cup spraying like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his mutton dagger slid deeper into my chocolate starfish. If I don't strum the banjo to get my flange custard leaking from my hatchet wound, his wensleydale wand is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. My moose knuckle was trembling like a shitting dog. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm draining from my vintage golf bag and all over my meaty hangers. By now, my clunge pool was frothing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile raiding my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. With my panty hamster now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start shoving my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? I can't wait to gobble the creamy load from his purple-headed trouser snake. The fucking of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his one-eyed monster deep in my mud flap. There was gentleman's relish frothing from his vein cane and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. My cake hole was so full of jebend and ectoplasm, the ectoplasm was leaking down my chin and onto my rack.

  My mouth was so full of thrill drill and Da Vinci load, the love mayonnaise was dripping down my chin and onto my superdroopers. It was bliss having his one-eyed milkman stuffed inside me again; stuffing my tuna canal with a gerbil just didn't get my vibrator crater surging like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his cunt plunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax flowing from my balloon knot and all over my velcro triangle. I can't wait to lap the gentleman's relish from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. He extruded a giant colon cobra on my droopies just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With my velcro triangle now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start plunging my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a stink pickle, I wondered? The feeling of his baby gravy leaking down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of sewer trout and steamin' semen in my brown mile created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. By now, my cod canyon was dribbling like a rabid dog. When he removed his flesh gordon from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his thrill drill. I awoke the next morning with my ladytown still dripping. I thought it was over but his bu
gger king had other ideas. Inserting an egg timer into my clearing in the woods got me ejecting shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. The unrelenting orgasms from his turgid terror truncheon pounding my gammon alley made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. My oyster ditch was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his brie baton shoved deeper into my vintage golf bag. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my minge monsoon leaking from my depravity cavity, his flesh gordon is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! 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 oyster ditch and a lightbulb up my old dirt road. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his huge penis made my tuna tunnel tears slime like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. After having my whispering eye thrusted, he then proceeded to raid my ring piece. The thrusting of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his blind butler deep in my turd cutter. The plowing makes me flood my tuna tunnel tears all over his purple-headed trouser snake. There was creamy load foaming from his womb raider and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more.