The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  My mouth was so full of purple-headed trouser snake and gentleman's relish, the magician's wax was draining down my chin and onto my chesticles. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and baby gravy in my fudge factory created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my front bum and my fist up my mud flap. By now, my calamari cockring was trickling 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 mutton dagger rammed deeper into my turd cutter. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The feeling of his steamin' semen leaking down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his pink tractor beam plunged inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my clunge pool splurging like it used to. My enchilada of love was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Inserting an egg timer into my one slice toaster got me spritzing sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his jade rod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The fucking makes me spray my vertical moisture all over his ample cock. The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick pounding my quim made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. When he removed his blue-veined custard chucker from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the footlong fudge bullet off his piss pipe. The plowing of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his blue-veined custard chucker deep in my ring piece. He extruded a giant stink pickle on my superdroopers just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my ground zero grotto still flowing. I thought it was over but his devil's bagpipe had other ideas. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his jebend made my vertical moisture drain like a hungry pig at a trough. With my furburger now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start ramming my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a toilet twinkie, I wondered? With his skin flute fucking deep into my chlamydia canal, the sensation of his stilton spear smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. If I don't buff the muff to get my pussy batter sliming from my cod canyon, his flesh gordon is going to leave my piss flaps resembling the south end of a badger going north. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load oozing from my turd cutter and all over my furburger. After having my cod cave plowed, he then proceeded to slam my other vagina. I can't wait to lap the love piss from his love muscle.

  By now, my sperm socket was dripping like a leaky tap. The mixture of stink pickle and creamy load in my marmite motorway created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! With his wrist-thick wand pounding deep into my clearing in the woods, the sensation of his tenderloin truncheon smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. With my spam castanets now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start probing my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a stink pickle, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his batter blaster slamming my pink velvet sausage wallet made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his bugger king made my tuna tunnel tears foam like a slavering dog. The plowing makes me surge my vertical moisture all over his greasy slimelight. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of cumtree and creamy load, the love piss was dribbling down my chin and onto my cans. If I don't play the clitar to get my fallopian fish stock oozing from my herring hole, his tenderloin truncheon is going to leave my beef curtains resembling the Japanese flag. 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 slime hole and an egg timer up my puckered brown eye. It was bliss having his spam javelin probed inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam cavern with my fist just didn't get my spunk dungeon flooding like it used to. My wizards sleeve was trembling like jelly. When he removed his long-dong silver from my black hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his stilton sword. There was creamy load trickling from his jebend and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my gammon alley still frothing. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. The slamming of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his gristle missile deep in my rusty sherif's badge. I can't wait to devour the love mayonnaise from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. Inserting a barbie doll into my whispering eye got me flowing shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot leaking from my puckered brown eye and all over my velcro triangle. After having my wunder down under thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my turd-herder. The feeling of his penis pudding slobbering down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb ferret probed deeper into my puckered brown eye.

  The mixture of stink pickle and love mayonnaise in my poop chute created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. With my lunchmeat now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start sliding my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a butt nugget, I wondered? Inserting a gerbil into my cod crater got me gushing tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my stench trench plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my Oxo orifice. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his piss pipe soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding leaching from my ring piece and all over my panty hamster. My cake hole was so full of blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and cock custard, the man fat was dripping down my chin and onto my tatas. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my oyster ditch still draining. I thought it was over but his spam dagger had other ideas. The feeling of his gentleman's relish frothing down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He arced a giant footlong fudge bullet on my sweater puppies just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With his love muscle pounding deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his love muscle smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. My oyster ditch was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. It was bliss having his bugger king rammed inside me again; stuffing my front bum with an antique doorknob just didn't get my herring hole spritzing like it used to. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his washington monument made my pussy batter leak like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. When he removed his slut slayer from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his bugger king. The thrusting of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his wrist-thick wand deep in my mud flap. By now, my soft-shelled tuna taco was draining like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without havi
ng a squash in my vibration station and a barbie doll up my puckered brown eye. The thrusting makes me spray my spaff all over his cream reaper. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed monster fucking my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. There was creamy load leaking from his bald avenger and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. I can't wait to consume the love mayonnaise from his tallywacker. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a badly wrapped kebab, and I was no different! If I don't fluff the muff to get my pussy batter slobbering from my one slice toaster, his thrill drill is going to leave my furburger resembling a horse's collar.

  When he removed his veiny quim prod from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the stink pickle off his chorizo howitzer. The plowing of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his balony pony deep in my vintage golf bag. After having my kipper dinghy thrusted, he then proceeded to plow my ring piece. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my slime hole and a 15" spiked vibrator up my cocoa channel. My throat was so full of jebend and creamy load, the gentleman's relish was slobbering down my chin and onto my boobage. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my ground zero grotto still trickling. I thought it was over but his all-beef thermometer had other ideas. With his timed slimer fucking deep into my whispering eye, the sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. It was bliss having his long-dong silver shoved inside me again; stuffing my ladytown with a lightbulb just didn't get my clearing in the woods surging like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his tenderloin truncheon pounding my cock holster made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. Inserting a 9-iron into my wunder down under got me pouring fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. With my meaty hangers now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start sliding my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his meaty member soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my enchilada of love was weeping like a slavering dog. He arced a giant toilet twinkie on my superdroopers just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The pounding makes me surge my fallopian fish stock all over his all-beef thermometer. The mixture of butt nugget and man fat in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. My soft-shelled tuna taco was trembling like a shitting dog. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his thrill drill made my fallopian fish stock weep like a slavering dog. The feeling of his baby gravy leaking down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was love mayonnaise draining from his tallywacker and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax slobbering from my turd-herder and all over my purple cabbage. If I don't buff the muff to get my clunge gunge trickling from my carp cavity, his ramrod is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a twisted slipper. I can't wait to gobble the creamy load from his cream reaper. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different!

  Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam javelin slid deeper into my balloon knot. After having my pink velvet sausage wallet slammed, he then proceeded to fuck my brown mile. I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole still sliming. I thought it was over but his tallywacker had other ideas. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my spaff foaming from my municipal cockwash, his purple-headed trouser snake is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a rabid baboon's arse. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my fallopian fish stock froth like a slavering dog. My smush mitten was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. It was bliss having his giggle stick slid inside me again; stuffing my wizards sleeve with a squash just didn't get my wizards sleeve splurging like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat seeping from my brown mile and all over my meaty hangers. The fucking makes me squirt my sex wee all over his cervix cigar. He launched a giant stink pickle on my fiery biscuits just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. When he removed his love lollipop from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the toilet twinkie off his gristle missile. The raiding of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his spam dagger deep in my old dirt road. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. I can't wait to lap the creamy load from his wensleydale wand. The unrelenting orgasms from his master of ceremonies fucking my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. With his clunger thrusting deep into my cum dumpster, the sensation of his slut slayer smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The feeling of his creamy load oozing down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his chubstep 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 15" spiked vibrator in my gashtray and an antique doorknob up my puckered brown eye. With my hairy goblet now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start shoving my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a butt nugget, I wondered? The mixture of toilet twinkie and penis pudding in my balloon knot created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. There was love piss draining from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Inserting a barbie doll into my calamari cockring got me flooding fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My throat was so full of blind butler and creamy load, the Da Vinci load was flowing down my chin and onto my tatas.

  It was bliss having his cumtree probed inside me again; stuffing my smush mitten with an egg timer just didn't get my chlamydia canal flooding like it used to. With his washington monument pounding deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his cunt plunger smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. The feeling of his cock snot flowing down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my flappy meal now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start stuffing my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? He extruded a giant butt nugget on my mammaries just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My wizards sleeve was trembling like a rat on acid. My mouth was so full of jebend and love mayonnaise, the baby gravy was dribbling down my chin and onto my top bollocks. There was penis pudding weeping from his giggle stick and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. When he removed his huge penis from my vintage golf bag, 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 cumtree. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax dripping from my tradesman's entrance and all over my clap flaps. I awoke the next morning with my salmon slit still draining. I thought it was over but his cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different!
The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his womb ferret soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my ladytown got me spattering flange custard faster than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his gristle missile rammed deeper into my brown eye. The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod slamming my fuck gutter made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. I can't wait to gobble the cock snot from his stilton sword. After having my gammon alley plowed, he then proceeded to slam my poo pipe. 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 clam-flavoured pothole and a squash up my Oxo orifice. The fucking of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his washington monument deep in my balloon knot. The mixture of stink pickle and man fat in my turd cutter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The slamming makes me pour my pussy batter all over his thrill drill. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his all-beef thermometer made my sex wee weep like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my vertical moisture seeping from my front bum, his gristle missile is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a badly wrapped kebab.