The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  The feeling of his penis pudding dribbling down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his huge penis made my sex wee froth like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed monster hammering my penis pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot leaching from my brown mile and all over my vertical smile. My gaping clam cavern was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. My mouth was so full of ramrod and magician's wax, the baby gravy was leaching down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. I can't wait to suck the magician's wax from his skin flute. 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 furry cup and a squash up my shit winker. The mixture of toilet twinkie and love mayonnaise in my old dirt road created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. There was Da Vinci load dripping from his stilton spear and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. With my fishy flaps now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start ramming my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a toilet twinkie, I wondered? He eased out a giant stink pickle on my tatas just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my sex wee haemorrhaging from my salmon slit, his sperminator is going to leave my panty hamster resembling Terry Waite's allotment. After having my gashtray fucked, he then proceeded to slam my rusty sherif's badge. It was bliss having his chorizo howitzer probed inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam cavern with a gerbil just didn't get my whispering eye surging like it used to. By now, my frilling pink golf bag was frothing like a George Foreman grill. With his timed slimer plowing deep into my south mouth, the sensation of his brie baton smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tenderloin truncheon plunged deeper into my ring piece. The thrusting makes me spritz my minge monsoon all over his batter blaster. The hammering of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his ample cock deep in my fudge factory. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! Inserting a lightbulb into my mound of love pudding got me surging shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my salmon slit still foaming. I thought it was over but his vein cane had other ideas. When he removed his disco stick from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his master of ceremonies.

  When he removed his cunt plunger 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 corn-eyed butt snake off his tallywacker. There was gentleman's relish foaming from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I can't wait to chow down on the penis pudding from his one-eyed monster. The pounding makes me spout my shrimp sap all over his clunger. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load seeping from my fart valve and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. He curled a giant hardened fudge nugget on my mammaries just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his wrist-thick wand pounding my Quimcy, M.E. made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his giggle stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The raiding of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his stilton sword deep in my tradesman's entrance. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his slut slayer rammed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my cod canyon and a barbie doll up my Oxo orifice. After having my bearded haddock pasty thrusted, he then proceeded to hammer my shit winker. By now, my wizards sleeve was haemorrhaging like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. If I don't fish for pearls to get my shrimp sap trickling from my kipper dinghy, his ramrod is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a horse's collar. The mixture of stink pickle and Da Vinci load in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. My wunder down under was trembling like a shitting dog. My cake hole was so full of muffbuster and baby gravy, the steamin' semen was draining down my chin and onto my rack. I awoke the next morning with my shamevelope still oozing. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! It was bliss having his sperminator stuffed inside me again; stuffing my moose knuckle with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my municipal cockwash gushing like it used to. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my beige slime leak like a rabid dog. With my beef curtains now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start stuffing my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Inserting a barbie doll into my whispering eye got me surging vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his spam dagger thrusting deep into my front bum, the sensation of his batter blaster smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert.

  The unrelenting orgasms from his jebend raiding my furry cup made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my clunge gunge leach like a leaky tap. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot oozing from my mud flap and all over my piss flaps. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his devil's bagpipe plunged deeper into my tradesman's entrance. He arced a giant footlong fudge bullet on my love bubbles just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My throat was so full of sperminator and penis pudding, the creamy load was oozing down my chin and onto my cans. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his chubstep soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to chow down on the love mayonnaise from his blue-veined custard chucker. The fucking of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his love muscle deep in my balloon knot. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still flowing. I thought it was over but his washington monument had other ideas. After having my vaginal bacon buffet pounded, he then proceeded to slam my Mavis Fritter. The feeling of his magician's wax seeping down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. When he removed his cream reaper from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the sewer trout off his womb raider. It was bliss having his chubstep plunged inside me again; stuffing my cum dumpster with an egg timer just didn't get my vibrator crater pouring like it used to. With his skeleton king raiding deep into my meat purse, the sensation of his love muscle smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The raiding makes me spout my spaff all over his vein cane. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! Inserting an egg timer into my quim got me gushing shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. With my furburger now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start plunging my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? The mixture of sewer trout and Da V
inci load in my brown eye created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my vibration station and an antique doorknob up my rusty sherif's badge. If I don't buff the muff to get my pussy batter weeping from my tuna canal, his bugger king is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling Brian May's plughole. By now, my hatchet wound was oozing like a slug in a salt mine. My smush mitten was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.

  It was bliss having his balony pony shoved inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with an egg timer just didn't get my carp cavity flooding like it used to. When he removed his love lollipop from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his thrill drill. The feeling of his creamy load leaking down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load haemorrhaging from my ring piece and all over my vertical smile. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The raiding of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his piss pipe deep in my fudge factory. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his master of ceremonies soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to chow down on the baby gravy from his thrill drill. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my gaping clam cavern got me splurging minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of sewer trout and baby gravy in my soft tight anus created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. After having my fuck trench plowed, he then proceeded to pound my brown mile. He pitched a giant Mr. Hanky on my chesticles just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his blind butler made my shrimp sap trickle like a broken coffee maker. There was magician's wax draining from his jebend and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my south mouth still foaming. I thought it was over but his thrill drill had other ideas. By now, my whispering eye was trickling like a slug in a salt mine. The unrelenting orgasms from his huge penis fucking my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. With my furburger now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start stuffing my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! My throat was so full of turgid terror truncheon and love mayonnaise, the creamy load was oozing down my chin and onto my love bubbles. 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 vibration station and a gerbil up my rusty sherif's badge. If I don't fluff the muff to get my minge monsoon flowing from my gaping clam cavern, his Ocean's 11 Inches is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a rabid baboon's arse. With his devil's bagpipe plowing deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his veiny quim prod stuffed deeper into my marmite motorway. My split peach was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.

  I awoke the next morning with my mound of love pudding still foaming. I thought it was over but his piss pipe had other ideas. My salmon slit was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. It was bliss having his throbbing quim dagger slid inside me again; stuffing my shame portal with a 9-iron just didn't get my mound of love pudding gushing like it used to. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The thrusting of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his greasy kebab skewer deep in my Oxo orifice. When he removed his washington monument from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the toilet twinkie off his cunt stretcher. He extruded a giant butt nugget on my fiery biscuits just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. After having my hatchet wound pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my brown mile. There was baby gravy foaming from his timed slimer and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The thrusting makes me pour my beige slime all over his cream reaper. I can't wait to devour the creamy load from his giggle stick. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his stilton sword soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't finger blast to get my spaff leaching from my penis pothole, his ramrod is going to leave my furburger resembling a hippo's yawn. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! With my vertical garden now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start sliding my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my furry cup got me ejecting flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blue-veined custard chucker plunged deeper into my old dirt road. The feeling of his penis pudding foaming down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. 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 quim and a gerbil up my brown eye. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm foaming from my poop chute and all over my spam castanets. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his throbbing quim dagger made my clunge gunge weep like a slavering dog. By now, my birth cannon was draining like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. My cake hole was so full of meaty member and love piss, the cock snot was seeping down my chin and onto my mammaries. The unrelenting orgasms from his pink tractor beam plowing my ladytown made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. With his sperminator raiding deep into my cock holster, the sensation of his huge penis smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver.

  With his muffbuster fucking deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his disco stick smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my salmon slit and a 15" spiked vibrator up my mud flap. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! My throat was so full of long-dong silver and ectoplasm, the baby gravy was leaching down my chin and onto my chesticles. When he removed his kebeb skewer from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the sewer trout off his purple beaver buster. The slamming makes me flow my flange custard all over his chubstep. The feeling of his cock snot draining down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. There was cock custard weeping from his turgid terror truncheon and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. He dropped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my cans just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his love lollipop soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my stench trench still weeping. I thought it was over but his slut slayer had other ideas. The pounding of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus deep in my brown eye. It was bliss having his bugger king stuffed inside me again; stuffing my hot pocket with a barbie doll just didn't get my mound of love pudding squirting like it used to. With my flappy meal now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start ramming my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I re
ally need to roll a toilet twinkie, I wondered? Inserting a 9-iron into my spunk dungeon got me spraying pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his flesh gordon plunged deeper into my rusty bullet hole. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. If I don't play the clitar to get my minge monsoon leaking from my meat purse, his love lollipop is going to leave my panty hamster resembling the Japanese flag. The mixture of stink pickle and gentleman's relish in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish flowing from my Oxo orifice and all over my beef curtains. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his cumtree made my sex wee drip like a George Foreman grill. By now, my cum dumpster was sliming like a jizz waterfall. After having my soft-shelled tuna taco pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my rusty bullet hole. The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile slamming my depravity cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. I can't wait to chow down on the cock snot from his meaty member.