The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his purple-headed trouser snake soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He crowned a giant hardened fudge nugget on my breasticles just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The fucking makes me surge my sex wee all over his cervix cigar. My mouth was so full of bald avenger and baby gravy, the steamin' semen was oozing down my chin and onto my chest puppies. There was Da Vinci load weeping from his washington monument and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his tenderloin truncheon made my clunge gunge slime like a slavering dog. The feeling of his love piss trickling down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of sewer trout and magician's wax in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his thrill drill pounding my ladytown made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. After having my ground zero grotto thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my brown mile. I can't wait to consume the creamy load from his gristle missile. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my vibration station still leaking. I thought it was over but his tallywacker had other ideas. With my vertical smile now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start ramming my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a colon cobra, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding weeping from my ring piece and all over my roast beef platter. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my gashtray and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my chocolate starfish. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. My ruby cave was trembling like jelly. If I don't play the clitar to get my minge mucus weeping from my vibrator crater, his spam javelin is going to leave my furburger resembling badly battered road kill. It was bliss having his wrist-thick wand probed inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with my fist just didn't get my chlamydia canal spouting like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his purple beaver buster probed deeper into my poop chute. The pounding of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his cunt plunger deep in my cocoa channel. With his one-eyed monster fucking deep into my clam-flavoured pothole, the sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. When he removed his disco stick from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the Mr. Hanky off his disco stick. By now, my carp cavity was oozing like a hungry pig at a trough.

  The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed milkman plowing my fuck gutter made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen trickling from my other vagina and all over my panty hamster. He launched a giant hardened fudge nugget on my sweater puppies just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. After having my fuck trench fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my cocoa channel. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his long-dong silver made my shrimp sap dribble like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The pounding of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his jebend deep in my black hole. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my frilling pink golf bag and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my soft tight anus. The feeling of his love piss leaching down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and Da Vinci load in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't fish for pearls to get my flange custard slobbering from my vaginal bacon buffet, his throbbing quim dagger is going to leave my piss flaps resembling the Japanese flag. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my furry cup still haemorrhaging. 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 turgid terror truncheon plunged deeper into my other vagina. There was ectoplasm trickling from his wensleydale wand and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his long-dong silver soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my stench trench got me ejecting sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait to devour the Da Vinci load from his cheese-crusted cock. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. My chamber of squelch was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. My throat was so full of cheese-crusted cock and cock custard, the Da Vinci load was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my rack. It was bliss having his one-eyed monster probed inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with my fist just didn't get my clearing in the woods squirting like it used to. The slamming makes me squirt my minge monsoon all over his cheese-crusted cock. When he removed his meaty member from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the Mr. Hanky off his blue-veined custard chucker. By now, my mound of love pudding was trickling like a rabid dog. With my clap flaps now much like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start ramming my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a stink pickle, I wondered?

  He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my oyster ditch still sliming. I thought it was over but his brie baton had other ideas. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my beige slime slobbering from my meat purse, his clunger is going to leave my spam castanets resembling the south end of a badger going north. The slamming of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his vein cane deep in my brown mile. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and baby gravy in my turd cutter created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. When he removed his Ocean's 11 Inches from my balloon knot, 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 jebend. Inserting a barbie doll into my fuck gutter got me flowing sex wee faster than snot off a whip. My gashtray was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his cunt stretcher made my sex wee weep like a hungry pig at a trough. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton sword stuffed deeper into my ring piece. The unrelenting orgasms from his devil's bagpipe pounding my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. My cake hole was so full of bald avenger and cock snot, the love piss was dripping down my chin and onto my twin peaks. With his blind butler hammering deep into my penis pothole, the sensation of his gristle missile smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. There was gentleman's relish dripping from his mutton dagger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. I can't wait to devour the love piss from his huge penis. By now, my wizards sleeve was slobbering like a broken coffee maker. The slamming makes me squirt my spaff all over his kebeb skewer. 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 gammon alley and a 9-iron up my brown eye. The feeling of his magician's wax flowing down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending stre
ams of love piss emanating from his batter blaster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise leaching from my soft tight anus and all over my panty hamster. He eased out a giant butt nugget on my mammaries just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. After having my oyster ditch plowed, he then proceeded to raid my chocolate starfish. It was bliss having his ramrod rammed inside me again; stuffing my south mouth with a 9-iron just didn't get my herring hole spattering like it used to.

  If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my clunge gunge trickling from my tuna canal, his cunt stretcher is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. When he removed his tallywacker from my rusty bullet hole, 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 corn-eyed butt snake off his blue-veined custard chucker. With his timed slimer fucking deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his wensleydale wand smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. After having my soft-shelled tuna taco hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my balloon knot. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his bald avenger made my beige slime drain like a George Foreman grill. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his muffbuster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My kipper dinghy was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. By now, my kipper dinghy was trickling like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. It was bliss having his spam javelin rammed inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam cavern with a lightbulb just didn't get my wizards sleeve gushing like it used to. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my tuna canal and a number of chillies up my fart valve. There was magician's wax dripping from his purple-headed trouser snake and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my south mouth still foaming. I thought it was over but his slut slayer had other ideas. My throat was so full of tallywacker and love piss, the Da Vinci load was leaching down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. With my fishy flaps now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start probing my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The plowing makes me spray my beige slime all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. Inserting a number of chillies into my Quimcy, M.E. got me spouting spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his sperminator shoved deeper into my shit winker. The feeling of his love mayonnaise haemorrhaging down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The slamming of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his kebeb skewer deep in my Mavis Fritter. He crowned a giant sewer trout on my droopies just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm haemorrhaging from my ring piece and all over my lunchmeat. The unrelenting orgasms from his meaty member pounding my moose knuckle made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and creamy load in my brown mile created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I can't wait to chow down on the love piss from his spam dagger.

  I awoke the next morning with my slime hole still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had other ideas. After having my vaginal bacon buffet pounded, he then proceeded to plow my soft tight anus. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my gashtray and a 9-iron up my fudge factory. The feeling of his creamy load draining down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now, my tampon tunnel was dribbling like a jizz waterfall. With my roast beef platter now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start shoving my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a colon cobra, I wondered? It was bliss having his slut slayer stuffed inside me again; stuffing my vibration station with a lightbulb just didn't get my hatchet wound ejecting like it used to. The mixture of toilet twinkie and love mayonnaise in my fudge factory created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. My front bum was trembling like jelly. The pounding of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his clunger deep in my vintage golf bag. He copped a giant hardened fudge nugget on my superdroopers just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. If I don't play the clitar to get my beige slime haemorrhaging from my ground zero grotto, his stilton sword is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. With his skeleton king plowing deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his pink tractor beam smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen leaching from my Mavis Fritter and all over my velcro triangle. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his kebeb skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was man fat leaching from his blind butler and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his wensleydale wand made my spaff haemorrhage 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 balony pony shoved deeper into my marmite motorway. My throat was so full of one-eyed milkman and ectoplasm, the man fat was foaming down my chin and onto my love bubbles. Inserting an egg timer into my depravity cavity got me spouting shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his pink tractor beam thrusting my front bum made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. The fucking makes me spritz my shrimp sap all over his tallywacker. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! I can't wait to lap the man fat from his skin flute.

  There was love piss sliming from his cunt plunger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his womb ferret probed inside me again; stuffing my spunk dungeon with an egg timer just didn't get my cod crater spouting like it used to. I can't wait to chow down on the love mayonnaise from his skeleton king. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! With my vertical smile now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start ramming my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a stink pickle, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding leaking from my cocoa channel and all over my vertical smile. The pounding of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his jade rod deep in my rusty bullet hole. My cod cave was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. After having my sperm socket pounded, he then proceeded to plow my Mavis Fritter. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my clunge gunge sliming from my meat purse, his stilton sword is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling the south end of a badger going north. Inserting an egg timer into my bearded haddock pasty got me spouting shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my spunk dungeon and a 15" spiked vibrator up my vintage golf bag. The mixture of sewer trout and ectoplasm in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With his one-eyed monster plowing deep into my ruby cave, the sensation of his turgid terror truncheon smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The slamming makes me gush my minge monsoon all over his muffbuster. I awoke the next morning with my meat purse sti
ll haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his skin flute had other ideas. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his greasy kebab skewer made my spaff seep like a broken coffee maker. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his jebend 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 spunk-filled spam rocket rammed deeper into my brown eye. He dropped a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my love bubbles just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. My mouth was so full of ample cock and gentleman's relish, the baby gravy was flowing down my chin and onto my tatas. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod plowing my vibrator crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The feeling of his love mayonnaise oozing down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. By now, my moose knuckle was dribbling like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls.