The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  My carp cavity was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and magician's wax in my turd cutter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton sword plunged deeper into my black hole. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his purple beaver buster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his love piss sliming down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My throat was so full of flesh gordon and penis pudding, the magician's wax was leaking down my chin and onto my love bubbles. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding weeping from my fudge factory and all over my panty hamster. By now, my clunge pool was haemorrhaging like a leaky tap. It was bliss having his master of ceremonies rammed inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with a gerbil just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet spattering like it used to. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my clam-flavoured pothole and an egg timer up my marmite motorway. If I don't fish for pearls to get my minge monsoon trickling from my quim, his huge penis is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. With my vertical garden now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start shoving my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a colon cobra, I wondered? When he removed his one-eyed monster from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the footlong fudge bullet off his all-beef thermometer. The pounding makes me gush my shrimp sap all over his pink tractor beam. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his bugger king made my minge monsoon dribble like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. He crowned a giant colon cobra on my sweater puppies just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. The unrelenting orgasms from his balony pony raiding my fuck trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. After having my herring hole fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my chocolate starfish. There was magician's wax foaming from his blind butler and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The slamming of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his flesh gordon deep in my turd cutter. Inserting a squash into my kipper dinghy got me flowing sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. I can't wait to gobble the Da Vinci load from his throbbing quim dagger. With his spunk-filled spam rocket slamming deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his tenderloin truncheon smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert.

  There was love piss leaking from his timed slimer and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. My cake hole was so full of brie baton and steamin' semen, the magician's wax was sliming down my chin and onto my cans. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his purple beaver buster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my ruby cave slammed, he then proceeded to raid my brown eye. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher plunged inside me again; stuffing my front bum with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my ground zero grotto surging like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding dribbling from my ring piece and all over my vertical smile. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his greasy kebab skewer made my vertical moisture drip like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. If I don't study english cliterature to get my minge mucus oozing from my cod crater, his stilton sword is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a gutted trout. When he removed his cunt stretcher from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the corn-eyed butt snake off his balony pony. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my salmon slit and a 15" spiked vibrator up my mud flap. The thrusting makes me flood my flange custard all over his cumtree. My cum dumpster was trembling like a rat on acid. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skeleton king stuffed deeper into my poop chute. With his huge penis plowing deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his stilton sword smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I can't wait to consume the cock custard from his vein cane. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and cock custard in my brown mile created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With my panty hamster now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start stuffing my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The slamming of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his pink tractor beam deep in my cocoa channel. Inserting a lightbulb into my municipal cockwash got me surging sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my depravity cavity still oozing. I thought it was over but his stilton spear had other ideas. He dropped a giant butt nugget on my cans just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. The feeling of his Da Vinci load slobbering down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his cunt plunger thrusting my gashtray made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot.

  The unrelenting orgasms from his huge penis slamming my vibrator crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jebend shoved deeper into my brown eye. With my flappy meal now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start shoving my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a colon cobra, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his one-eyed milkman soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his love lollipop raiding deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his piss pipe smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. It was bliss having his washington monument rammed inside me again; stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with a number of chillies just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet surging like it used to. He launched a giant colon cobra on my cans just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My gashtray was trembling like jelly. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load frothing from my rusty bullet hole and all over my panty hamster. The feeling of his love mayonnaise dripping down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I can't wait to gobble the cock custard from his cumtree. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his mutton dagger made my shrimp sap flow like a broken coffee maker. There was man fat leaching from his jade rod and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The hammering of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his meaty member deep in my turd cutter. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! After having my birth cannon pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my rusty bullet hole. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and gentleman's relish in my chocolate starfish created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The fucking makes me flow my spaff all over his spam dagger. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. When he removed his turgid terror truncheon from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the sewer trout off
his cunt plunger. By now, my south mouth was draining like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. I awoke the next morning with my herring hole still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his cream reaper had other ideas. My throat was so full of Nelson's Column and love piss, the man fat was dripping 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 barbie doll in my clam-flavoured pothole and a gerbil up my cocoa channel. Inserting a number of chillies into my soft-shelled tuna taco got me surging flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel.

  Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a badly wrapped kebab, and I was no different! Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his battering ram made my sex wee flow like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. When he removed his muffbuster from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the Mr. Hanky off his tallywacker. Inserting a gerbil into my clunge pool got me ejecting spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my meat purse and a squash up my cocoa channel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cumtree probed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. If I don't strum the banjo to get my flange custard foaming from my smush mitten, his wensleydale wand is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a clown's pocket. He cut a giant colon cobra on my top bollocks just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his blind butler soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. With his washington monument raiding deep into my stench trench, the sensation of his purple beaver buster smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. I can't wait to consume the ectoplasm from his Ocean's 11 Inches. The unrelenting orgasms from his jebend thrusting my gashtray made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. With my vertical smile now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start probing my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a toilet twinkie, I wondered? There was gentleman's relish dribbling from his greasy kebab skewer and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. By now, my shame portal was draining like a hungry pig at a trough. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock custard in my poop chute created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat foaming from my old dirt road and all over my velcro triangle. My stench trench was trembling like jelly. After having my gammon alley fucked, he then proceeded to raid my old dirt road. The plowing makes me flow my pussy batter all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. My cake hole was so full of muffbuster and magician's wax, the cock snot was seeping down my chin and onto my cans. The feeling of his Da Vinci load leaking down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his blue-veined custard chucker probed inside me again; stuffing my meat purse with a barbie doll just didn't get my cock holster splurging like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my clunge pool still seeping. I thought it was over but his skeleton king had other ideas.

  There was ectoplasm oozing from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Inserting my fist into my stench trench got me flowing sex wee faster than snot off a whip. I can't wait to suck the ectoplasm from his mutton dagger. I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole still draining. I thought it was over but his veiny quim prod had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his pink tractor beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. After having my gaping clam cavern fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my marmite motorway. The hammering makes me spit my tuna tunnel tears all over his bald-headed yogurt slinger. The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick pounding my smush mitten made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. With his thrill drill raiding deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his cream reaper smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot leaking from my vintage golf bag and all over my roast beef platter. It was bliss having his cunt plunger plunged inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with an antique doorknob just didn't get my cod canyon splurging like it used to. With my meaty hangers now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start shoving my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a colon cobra, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my wizards sleeve and a 15" spiked vibrator up my other vagina. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! The pounding of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his veiny quim prod deep in my rusty sherif's badge. My throat was so full of balony pony and penis pudding, the man fat was weeping down my chin and onto my tatas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his wrist-thick wand rammed deeper into my black hole. My vibrator crater was trembling like a shitting dog. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and gentleman's relish in my brown eye created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his wensleydale wand made my beige slime foam like a leaky tap. The feeling of his cock custard seeping down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my tuna tunnel tears slobbering from my Quimcy, M.E., his gristle missile is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. He crowned a giant toilet twinkie on my mosquito bites just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. By now, my stench trench was leaking like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls.

  My one slice toaster was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I awoke the next morning with my cod cave still leaking. I thought it was over but his cervix cigar had other ideas. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my cod canyon got me squirting spaff faster than snot off a whip. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his brie baton soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load dribbling from my old dirt road and all over my roast beef platter. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his batter blaster made my clunge gunge foam like a jizz waterfall. The feeling of his creamy load slobbering down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my penis pothole and a barbie doll up my soft tight anus. The unrelenting orgasms from his muffbuster hammering my moose knuckle made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The thrusting of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his jade rod deep in my vintage golf bag. It was bliss having his muffbuster plunged inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with an egg timer just didn't get my fuck gutter splurging like it used to. He curled a giant stink pickle on my superdroopers just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! After having my furry cup pounded, he then proceeded to plow my mud flap. With his kebeb skewer slamming deep into my carp cavity, the sensation of his huge penis smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The raiding makes me gush
my fallopian fish stock all over his blind butler. There was cock snot oozing from his wrist-thick wand and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. My mouth was so full of love lollipop and magician's wax, the Da Vinci load was dripping down my chin and onto my love bubbles. With my roast beef platter now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start sliding my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a stink pickle, I wondered? The mixture of toilet twinkie and penis pudding in my rusty sherif's badge 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 cervix cigar rammed deeper into my brown mile. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. If I don't finger blast to get my pussy batter slobbering from my herring hole, his purple beaver buster is going to leave my clap flaps resembling the Japanese flag. I can't wait to lap the love piss from his clunger. By now, my ruby cave was sliming like Adele waiting for Greggs to open.