The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  When he removed his Ocean's 11 Inches 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 colon cobra off his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ample cock rammed deeper into my cocoa channel. I can't wait to chow down on the gentleman's relish from his womb ferret. I awoke the next morning with my chamber of squelch still trickling. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. It was bliss having his devil's bagpipe stuffed inside me again; stuffing my quim with an egg timer just didn't get my smush mitten spattering like it used to. There was baby gravy frothing from his one-eyed milkman and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his jebend soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my chlamydia canal thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my Oxo orifice. With his jade rod raiding deep into my whispering eye, the sensation of his one-eyed monster smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat flowing from my tradesman's entrance and all over my flappy meal. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my minge mucus haemorrhage like a slug in a salt mine. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and love piss in my brown eye created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. My sperm socket was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald avenger thrusting my depravity cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. 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 pink velvet sausage wallet and a squash up my turd-herder. With my fishy flaps now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start shoving my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? By now, my tuna canal was seeping like a rabid dog. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my vertical moisture weeping from my municipal cockwash, his ample cock is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling Pete Burns' lips. Inserting a lightbulb into my tampon tunnel got me ejecting minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My cake hole was so full of bald avenger and man fat, the cock snot was seeping down my chin and onto my tatas. He arced a giant sewer trout on my mammaries just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The slamming makes me spit my fallopian fish stock all over his vein cane. The thrusting of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his wensleydale wand deep in my cocoa channel.

  Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! With my furburger now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start probing my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a sewer trout, I wondered? My mound of love pudding was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. He cut a giant butt nugget on my superdroopers just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. When he removed his cervix cigar from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the footlong fudge bullet off his chubstep. The unrelenting orgasms from his spunk-filled spam rocket hammering my front bum made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. If I don't finger blast to get my flange custard oozing from my vibration station, his tenderloin truncheon is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling Terry Waite's allotment. The fucking makes me spout my vertical moisture all over his ample cock. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load seeping from my soft tight anus and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my ruby cave and a squash up my Mavis Fritter. Inserting a number of chillies into my sperm socket got me spattering pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. By now, my enchilada of love was trickling like a jizz waterfall. After having my calamari cockring fucked, he then proceeded to slam my turd-herder. The feeling of his steamin' semen dripping down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his blind butler slid inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia canal with a gerbil just didn't get my shame portal ejecting like it used to. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon made my fallopian fish stock drain like a broken coffee maker. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his blind butler soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my gashtray still leaching. I thought it was over but his jebend had other ideas. I can't wait to chow down on the magician's wax from his brie baton. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bald avenger slid deeper into my ring piece. There was magician's wax oozing from his cunt plunger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. My cake hole was so full of throbbing quim dagger and gentleman's relish, the ectoplasm was frothing down my chin and onto my chesticles. With his giggle stick slamming deep into my wizards sleeve, the sensation of his purple beaver buster smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The hammering of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his mutton dagger deep in my shit winker.

  It was bliss having his sperminator probed inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with an antique doorknob just didn't get my one slice toaster surging like it used to. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my fuck gutter and a gerbil up my turd cutter. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his wrist-thick wand made my spaff flow like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! My hot pocket was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring still dribbling. I thought it was over but his kebeb skewer had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love lollipop slid deeper into my shit winker. When he removed his sperminator from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his spam dagger. He blasted a giant Mr. Hanky on my sweater puppies just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss frothing from my puckered brown eye and all over my roast beef platter. After having my cum dumpster raided, he then proceeded to pound my turd-herder. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and gentleman's relish in my cocoa channel created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my one slice toaster got me squirting sex wee faster than snot off a whip. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. The fucking of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his spam javelin deep in my rusty bullet hole. The hammering makes me squirt my flange custard all over his gristle missile. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start ramming my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? By now, my chlamydia canal was dribbling like a rabid dog. The unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver thrusting my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. I can't wait to chow down on the magician's wax from his kebeb s
kewer. If I don't study english cliterature to get my pussy batter flowing from my mound of love pudding, his kebeb skewer is going to leave my furburger resembling the south end of a badger going north. With his disco stick hammering deep into my Quimcy, M.E., the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. My throat was so full of sperminator and gentleman's relish, the creamy load was dripping down my chin and onto my cans. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his disco stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his love mayonnaise leaching down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip.

  If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my flange custard oozing from my municipal cockwash, his Nelson's Column is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a horse's collar. I awoke the next morning with my enchilada of love still trickling. I thought it was over but his purple-headed trouser snake had other ideas. By now, my ruby cave was sliming like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. There was cock snot oozing from his battering ram and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. My frilling pink golf bag was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The feeling of his man fat slobbering down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait to gobble the creamy load from his piss pipe. He curled a giant stink pickle on my top bollocks just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and man fat in my fart valve created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy weeping from my fudge factory and all over my hairy goblet. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his wrist-thick wand thrusting my frilling pink golf bag made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. My mouth was so full of cunt stretcher and cock custard, the gentleman's relish was leaching down my chin and onto my top bollocks. The fucking makes me squirt my minge monsoon all over his long-dong silver. When he removed his bald-headed yogurt slinger 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 consume the toilet twinkie off his long-dong silver. With my velcro triangle now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start plunging my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a stink pickle, I wondered? The fucking of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his muffbuster deep in my shit winker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his muffbuster slid deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. Inserting an antique doorknob into my frilling pink golf bag got me flooding fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. It was bliss having his wrist-thick wand plunged inside me again; stuffing my clunge pool with a squash just didn't get my smush mitten spattering like it used to. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his blind butler made my fallopian fish stock drip like a George Foreman grill. After having my enchilada of love raided, he then proceeded to hammer my rusty sherif's badge. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my clunge pool and a 15" spiked vibrator up my tradesman's entrance. With his skin flute plowing deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his purple-headed trouser snake smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different!

  The mixture of colon cobra and baby gravy in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his one-eyed monster shoved inside me again; stuffing my furry cup with an antique doorknob just didn't get my wunder down under pouring like it used to. My wunder down under was trembling like a shitting dog. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his flesh gordon probed deeper into my chocolate starfish. The fucking makes me surge my sex wee all over his Nelson's Column. Inserting my fist into my vibration station got me spritzing minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. I can't wait to devour the love piss from his cheese-crusted cock. The raiding of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his one-eyed monster deep in my ring piece. The feeling of his cock custard dripping down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his slut slayer made my fallopian fish stock weep like a George Foreman grill. I awoke the next morning with my vibrator crater still draining. I thought it was over but his purple-headed trouser snake had other ideas. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my sex wee foaming from my frilling pink golf bag, his chorizo howitzer is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a twisted slipper. When he removed his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the hardened fudge nugget off his tenderloin truncheon. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. By now, my front bum was sliming like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. There was penis pudding oozing from his greasy slimelight and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. He pitched a giant sewer trout on my chesticles just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his jade rod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my chamber of squelch slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my fudge factory. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise leaching from my poop chute and all over my lunchmeat. With his purple beaver buster hammering deep into my cod crater, the sensation of his skin flute smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. With my purple cabbage now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start stuffing my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a colon cobra, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his all-beef thermometer plowing my slime hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. My throat was so full of meaty member and ectoplasm, the gentleman's relish was sliming down my chin and onto my chest puppies.

  The plowing of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his stilton sword deep in my turd-herder. With his spunk-filled spam rocket thrusting deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his mutton dagger smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. If I don't buff the muff to get my flange custard trickling from my pink velvet sausage wallet, his greasy slimelight is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a clown's pocket. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss oozing from my brown mile and all over my fishy flaps. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! My mouth was so full of wrist-thick wand and magician's wax, the Da Vinci load was leaking down my chin and onto my chesticles. He blasted a giant colon cobra on my top bollocks just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My depravity cavity was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his love lollipop soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was steamin' semen seeping from his wrist-thick wand and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his cheese-crusted cock made my spaff drip like a rabid dog. 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 wizards sleeve and a squash up my puckered brown eye. With my panty hamster now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start shoving my Oxo
orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a colon cobra, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my carp cavity still slobbering. I thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and creamy load in my other vagina created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. Inserting an egg timer into my meat purse got me splurging spaff faster than snot off a whip. I can't wait to lap the Da Vinci load from his bald-headed yogurt slinger. After having my oyster ditch slammed, he then proceeded to slam my turd-herder. The feeling of his love mayonnaise flowing down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. It was bliss having his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus probed inside me again; stuffing my calamari cockring with an egg timer just didn't get my south mouth surging like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jade rod probed deeper into my mud flap. The hammering makes me splurge my minge monsoon all over his meaty member. By now, my pink velvet sausage wallet was trickling like a George Foreman grill. The unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver fucking my cod crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot.