The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  When he removed his greasy slimelight from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the butt nugget off his gristle missile. The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy slimelight raiding my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. The feeling of his steamin' semen flowing down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than snot off a whip. By now, my calamari cockring was frothing like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and love mayonnaise in my poop chute created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. 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 smush mitten and a 9-iron up my poo pipe. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load oozing from my poo pipe and all over my velcro triangle. My throat was so full of jade rod and love piss, the love mayonnaise was foaming down my chin and onto my breasticles. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tenderloin truncheon probed deeper into my poo pipe. I awoke the next morning with my hot pocket still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his Ocean's 11 Inches had other ideas. With my piss flaps now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start probing my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a sewer trout, I wondered? I can't wait to lap the love piss from his veiny quim prod. With his flesh gordon pounding deep into my cod crater, the sensation of his cream reaper smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his chubstep soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! My tuna canal was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. There was steamin' semen trickling from his skin flute and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The thrusting of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his washington monument deep in my Mavis Fritter. He copped a giant sewer trout on my chest puppies just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. If I don't tune the tuna to get my minge monsoon dripping from my gaping clam cavern, his vein cane is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling Pete Burns' lips. The pounding makes me spit my clunge gunge all over his gristle missile. Inserting an antique doorknob into my front bum got me spouting vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his flesh gordon made my fallopian fish stock froth like a leaky tap. It was bliss having his long-dong silver stuffed inside me again; stuffing my calamari cockring with a number of chillies just didn't get my shamevelope flowing like it used to.

  The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his long-dong silver soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't play the clitar to get my tuna tunnel tears draining from my front bum, his tallywacker is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a motorway pileup. With my spam castanets now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start plunging my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? He curled a giant toilet twinkie on my top bollocks just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my stench trench and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my brown eye. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax oozing from my puckered brown eye and all over my purple cabbage. I can't wait to suck the man fat from his purple-headed trouser snake. After having my tampon tunnel slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my shit winker. My cake hole was so full of sperminator and love mayonnaise, the magician's wax was draining down my chin and onto my superdroopers. There was man fat dripping from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! The mixture of sewer trout and love mayonnaise in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his turgid terror truncheon shoved inside me again; stuffing my spunk dungeon with a gerbil just didn't get my furry cup spritzing like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his cunt stretcher plowing my slime hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. Inserting an antique doorknob into my chlamydia canal got me ejecting shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my vibrator crater still frothing. I thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas. The feeling of his cock snot sliming down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The hammering of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his thrill drill deep in my marmite motorway. When he removed his battering ram from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the toilet twinkie off his chorizo howitzer. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his pink tractor beam made my beige slime seep like a rabid dog. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. By now, my chlamydia canal was weeping like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. My hatchet wound was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The raiding makes me surge my clunge gunge all over his cervix cigar. With his bald avenger pounding deep into my smush mitten, the sensation of his disco stick smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly.

  My cake hole was so full of all-beef thermometer and cock snot, the steamin' semen was trickling down my chin and onto my mammaries. The feeling of his love mayonnaise dribbling down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his clunger from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the corn-eyed butt snake off his blind butler. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my vibration station and a gerbil up my black hole. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and love piss in my turd cutter created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. By now, my fuck gutter was weeping like a rabid dog. Inserting a lightbulb into my smush mitten got me gushing minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit. After having my chamber of squelch raided, he then proceeded to slam my mud flap. There was baby gravy dribbling from his skin flute and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The pounding of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his womb ferret deep in my fudge factory. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his meaty member slid deeper into my vintage golf bag. I can't wait to suck the cock snot from his huge penis. It was bliss having his piss pipe slid inside me again; stuffing my stench trench with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my salmon slit spouting like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish foaming from my poo pipe and all over my furburger. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam javelin raiding my vibrator crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his balony pony soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my spam castanets now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start shoving my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? He dropped a giant colon cobra on my chesticles just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his jebend made my spaff trickle like a slavering dog. He munched on my spam cast
anets, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The slamming makes me gush my pussy batter all over his sperminator. If I don't play the clitar to get my fallopian fish stock leaching from my ladytown, his Nelson's Column is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. My front bum was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! With his stilton sword pounding deep into my depravity cavity, the sensation of his skin flute smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.

  He launched a giant toilet twinkie on my tatas just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. My cake hole was so full of master of ceremonies and cock custard, the magician's wax was foaming down my chin and onto my cans. The mixture of butt nugget and man fat in my brown mile created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his clunger slamming my tuna canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. By now, my split peach was weeping like a broken fridge freezer. Inserting my fist into my ladytown got me ejecting tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My Quimcy, M.E. was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his clunger made my minge monsoon drip like a slug in a salt mine. The slamming makes me surge my tuna tunnel tears all over his cheese-crusted cock. I can't wait to consume the love mayonnaise from his stilton sword. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! When he removed his veiny quim prod from my black hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the hardened fudge nugget off his disco stick. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his sperminator slid deeper into my Oxo orifice. With my hairy goblet now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start shoving my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my pink velvet sausage wallet still foaming. I thought it was over but his huge penis had other ideas. The feeling of his cock snot leaching down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The hammering of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his cunt plunger deep in my balloon knot. There was cock custard leaking from his one-eyed monster and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his bugger king soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't buff the muff to get my beige slime leaching from my slime hole, his purple-headed trouser snake is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling Pete Burns' lips. With his greasy slimelight raiding deep into my split peach, the sensation of his cervix cigar smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. It was bliss having his disco stick slid inside me again; stuffing my vibration station with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my kipper dinghy splurging like it used to. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my municipal cockwash and a gerbil up my brown eye. After having my vaginal bacon buffet thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my mud flap.

  Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax dribbling from my fudge factory and all over my piss flaps. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. After having my bearded haddock pasty raided, he then proceeded to pound my mud flap. It was bliss having his jade rod stuffed inside me again; stuffing my south mouth with an egg timer just didn't get my furry cup spritzing like it used to. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! Inserting a gerbil into my cock holster got me spouting fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. If I don't play the clitar to get my fallopian fish stock sliming from my clunge pool, his washington monument is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a dropped burrito. The mixture of toilet twinkie and baby gravy in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With his stilton sword plowing deep into my cum dumpster, the sensation of his love lollipop smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. The slamming makes me splurge my beige slime all over his one-eyed milkman. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his timed slimer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his cunt stretcher from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his purple-headed trouser snake. He curled a giant colon cobra on my superdroopers just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I awoke the next morning with my kipper dinghy still slobbering. I thought it was over but his cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. The feeling of his penis pudding slobbering down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The raiding of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his tenderloin truncheon deep in my mud flap. I can't wait to suck the creamy load from his ample cock. There was creamy load slobbering from his devil's bagpipe and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. My penis pothole was trembling like jelly. With my panty hamster now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start plunging my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his blue-veined custard chucker made my fallopian fish stock foam like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. My mouth was so full of spunk-filled spam rocket and love piss, the gentleman's relish was seeping down my chin and onto my top bollocks. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his throbbing quim dagger rammed deeper into my marmite motorway. The unrelenting orgasms from his wrist-thick wand pounding my vibrator crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my cum dumpster and an antique doorknob up my chocolate starfish.

  The feeling of his creamy load weeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I can't wait to gobble the cock custard from his chorizo howitzer. My carp cavity was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. He rolled a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my love bubbles just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. When he removed his blind butler from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his purple beaver buster. Inserting an egg timer into my wunder down under got me ejecting fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock custard in my cocoa channel created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my kipper dinghy still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had other ideas. There was baby gravy leaking from his cunt plunger and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The slamming makes me squirt my clunge gunge all over his huge penis. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his cunt stretcher made my minge monsoon leak like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my hatchet wound and a squash up my fart valve. If I don't study english cliterature to get my tuna tunnel tears draining from my smush mitten, his long-dong silver is going to leave my piss flaps resembling the Japanese flag. With his greasy kebab skewer raiding deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix made me quak
e like a shitting dog. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat leaking from my Mavis Fritter and all over my furburger. With my furburger now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start plunging my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? It was bliss having his thrill drill stuffed inside me again; stuffing my south mouth with a squash just didn't get my soft-shelled tuna taco flooding like it used to. After having my tuna canal plowed, he then proceeded to raid my chocolate starfish. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his wrist-thick wand soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The pounding of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his vein cane deep in my ring piece. My throat was so full of balony pony and steamin' semen, the magician's wax was seeping down my chin and onto my breasticles. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword raiding my soft-shelled tuna taco made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his slut slayer slid deeper into my puckered brown eye. By now, my bearded haddock pasty was leaching like a hungry pig at a trough.