The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard dripping from my other vagina and all over my roast beef platter. If I don't strum the banjo to get my fallopian fish stock sliming from my oyster ditch, his jebend is going to leave my spam castanets resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. My soft-shelled tuna taco was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his huge penis probed deeper into my black hole. My mouth was so full of jebend and love piss, the penis pudding was leaking down my chin and onto my love bubbles. After having my gaping clam cavern pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my poop chute. By now, my oyster ditch was frothing like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Inserting a lightbulb into my sperm socket got me spattering vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my quim still flowing. I thought it was over but his womb raider had other ideas. The mixture of toilet twinkie and steamin' semen in my Oxo orifice created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his chubstep rammed inside me again; stuffing my ruby cave with an antique doorknob just didn't get my cock holster ejecting like it used to. With his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus fucking deep into my front bum, the sensation of his love muscle smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start ramming my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a stink pickle, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his skin flute soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He eased out a giant sewer trout on my twin peaks just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. There was cock snot leaching from his cumtree and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The feeling of his steamin' semen leaking down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my cod canyon and a 9-iron up my soft tight anus. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his womb raider made my flange custard drip like a broken fridge freezer. The pounding of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his stilton sword deep in my fart valve. The unrelenting orgasms from his turgid terror truncheon raiding my soft-shelled tuna taco made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. The plowing makes me pour my fallopian fish stock all over his veiny quim prod. I can't wait to suck the steamin' semen from his chorizo howitzer.

  The slamming makes me splurge my minge mucus all over his veiny quim prod. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his stilton sword soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. 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 chamber of squelch and a lightbulb up my ring piece. He cut a giant sewer trout on my chesticles just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my Quimcy, M.E. got me surging vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My spunk dungeon was trembling like jelly. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his spam javelin made my sex wee foam like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. I awoke the next morning with my oyster ditch still sliming. I thought it was over but his skin flute had other ideas. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and cock custard in my fudge factory created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. By now, my wunder down under was leaching like a slug in a salt mine. The feeling of his penis pudding trickling down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The pounding of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his love muscle deep in my other vagina. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his all-beef thermometer rammed deeper into my rusty bullet hole. When he removed his master of ceremonies from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his love lollipop. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise leaching from my brown mile and all over my piss flaps. There was cock custard flowing from his turgid terror truncheon and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my pussy batter flowing from my clunge pool, his pink tractor beam is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a dropped burrito. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! With his spam javelin raiding deep into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his brie baton smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. After having my shamevelope pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my fudge factory. It was bliss having his bald-headed yogurt slinger stuffed inside me again; stuffing my cum dumpster with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my one slice toaster flooding like it used to. I can't wait to consume the Da Vinci load from his kebeb skewer. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald avenger raiding my slime hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. My cake hole was so full of love lollipop and love piss, the love piss was foaming down my chin and onto my rack.

  By now, my clam-flavoured pothole was oozing like a slug in a salt mine. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skeleton king rammed deeper into my turd-herder. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my shrimp sap leach like a George Foreman grill. My penis pothole was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The unrelenting orgasms from his cervix cigar thrusting my shame portal made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. I awoke the next morning with my municipal cockwash still leaching. I thought it was over but his giggle stick had other ideas. The mixture of colon cobra and penis pudding in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I can't wait to consume the creamy load from his long-dong silver. It was bliss having his timed slimer stuffed inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my enchilada of love spouting like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax flowing from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my flappy meal. With his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus thrusting deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his mutton dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! After having my herring hole fucked, he then proceeded to thrust my Oxo orifice. The thrusting of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his brie baton deep in my chocolate starfish. The raiding makes me spritz my flange custard all over his muffbuster. My cake hole was so full of cunt plunger and penis pudding, the penis pudding was foaming down my chin and onto my mammaries. There was love mayonnaise flowing from his piss pipe and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. When he removed his disco stick 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 devour the sewer trout off his spam javelin. He extruded a giant sewer trout on my cans just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The feeling of his Da Vinci load sliming down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone
, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my gaping clam cavern and a 15" spiked vibrator up my brown eye. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my soft-shelled tuna taco got me spattering minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his one-eyed milkman soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't fluff the muff to get my clunge gunge dripping from my whispering eye, his womb raider is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a hippo's yawn.

  Inserting a lightbulb into my herring hole got me surging clunge gunge faster than snot off a whip. After having my shamevelope pounded, he then proceeded to raid my rusty bullet hole. When he removed his brie baton from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the colon cobra off his one-eyed monster. My moose knuckle was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his throbbing quim dagger made my clunge gunge leak like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. I can't wait to lap the baby gravy from his ramrod. With my velcro triangle now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start stuffing my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my kipper dinghy still oozing. I thought it was over but his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had other ideas. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his love muscle soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my calamari cockring and a 15" spiked vibrator up my tradesman's entrance. The unrelenting orgasms from his ramrod hammering my vaginal bacon buffet made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. There was love mayonnaise dribbling from his battering ram and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The raiding makes me pour my vertical moisture all over his clunger. The hammering of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his turgid terror truncheon deep in my turd cutter. With his chubstep raiding deep into my clam-flavoured pothole, the sensation of his blind butler smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. He rolled a giant Mr. Hanky on my cans just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. My throat was so full of meaty member and baby gravy, the creamy load was leaching down my chin and onto my mammaries. The feeling of his creamy load seeping down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish foaming from my puckered brown eye and all over my furburger. The mixture of stink pickle and gentleman's relish in my puckered brown eye 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 chubstep slid deeper into my vintage golf bag. If I don't play the clitar to get my sex wee seeping from my salmon slit, his wrist-thick wand is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a twisted slipper. By now, my south mouth was dribbling like a hungry pig at a trough.

  The unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper thrusting my vibrator crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. He arced a giant Mr. Hanky on my chesticles just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his pink tractor beam made my minge monsoon seep like a slug in a salt mine. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my minge mucus haemorrhaging from my vibration station, his cervix cigar is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. The mixture of sewer trout and creamy load in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I can't wait to devour the cock snot from his meaty member. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start ramming my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? When he removed his womb raider from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the sewer trout off his devil's bagpipe. Inserting a gerbil into my cum dumpster got me spouting pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my municipal cockwash still leaking. I thought it was over but his Nelson's Column had other ideas. It was bliss having his chorizo howitzer plunged inside me again; stuffing my shamevelope with a squash just didn't get my clam-flavoured pothole pouring like it used to. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The plowing makes me spout my shrimp sap all over his skeleton king. By now, my slime hole was haemorrhaging like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax haemorrhaging from my shit winker and all over my beef curtains. After having my birth cannon plowed, he then proceeded to pound my brown eye. With his devil's bagpipe hammering deep into my hot pocket, the sensation of his spam dagger smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. 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 9-iron in my slime hole and a 15" spiked vibrator up my other vagina. My throat was so full of love lollipop and steamin' semen, the baby gravy was seeping down my chin and onto my superdroopers. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his one-eyed monster 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 thrill drill stuffed deeper into my black hole. There was love piss flowing from his Ocean's 11 Inches and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The raiding of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his purple beaver buster deep in my ring piece. My pink velvet sausage wallet was trembling like a shitting dog.

  I awoke the next morning with my tuna canal still seeping. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. The feeling of his cock snot trickling down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With my clap flaps now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start stuffing my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Inserting an egg timer into my salmon slit got me spattering beige slime faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My wunder down under was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. There was Da Vinci load oozing from his greasy kebab skewer and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. After having my ground zero grotto pounded, he then proceeded to slam my turd cutter. I can't wait to suck the love mayonnaise from his vein cane. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my vertical moisture slobbering from my ruby cave, his piss pipe is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a hippo's yawn. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his womb ferret soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of devil's bagpipe and penis pudding, the steamin' semen was trickling down my chin and onto my chesticles. With his ample cock pounding deep into my fuck trench, the sensation of his muffbuster smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his long-dong silver stuffed deeper into my marmite motorway. When he removed his throbbing quim dagger from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his womb raider. The pounding makes me splurge my flange custard all over his blind butler. The unrelenting orgasms from his blue-v
eined custard chucker hammering my gashtray made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The raiding of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his muffbuster deep in my Oxo orifice. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. By now, my cod canyon was slobbering like a broken fridge freezer. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his tallywacker made my flange custard slime like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! It was bliss having his ample cock stuffed inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with a lightbulb just didn't get my clearing in the woods spritzing like it used to. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my spunk dungeon and a squash up my brown mile. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and creamy load in my Oxo orifice created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He cut a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my sweater puppies just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge.

  He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Inserting a squash into my fuck gutter got me gushing flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss dripping from my black hole and all over my vertical smile. The plowing makes me flow my spaff all over his one-eyed monster. The mixture of colon cobra and gentleman's relish in my black hole created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With my lunchmeat now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start shoving my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a sewer trout, I wondered? Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his greasy slimelight made my beige slime flow like a slug in a salt mine. If I don't flick the bean to get my beige slime dribbling from my municipal cockwash, his ramrod is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. By now, my salmon slit was sliming like a broken fridge freezer. My chamber of squelch was trembling like a rat on acid. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his battering ram rammed deeper into my cocoa channel. The hammering of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his spam dagger deep in my soft tight anus. I can't wait to consume the penis pudding from his ample cock. I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole still flowing. I thought it was over but his purple-headed trouser snake had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his stilton spear soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his cunt plunger thrusting deep into my penis pothole, the sensation of his balony pony smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. The unrelenting orgasms from his tallywacker raiding my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my tampon tunnel and an antique doorknob up my old dirt road. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! After having my gammon alley raided, he then proceeded to raid my black hole. There was man fat leaking from his giggle stick and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. When he removed his wensleydale wand from my balloon knot, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the toilet twinkie off his throbbing quim dagger. My throat was so full of jade rod and cock custard, the Da Vinci load was seeping down my chin and onto my mammaries. It was bliss having his blind butler stuffed inside me again; stuffing my clunge pool with a barbie doll just didn't get my mound of love pudding squirting like it used to. The feeling of his gentleman's relish leaking down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.