The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  When he removed his sperminator 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 sewer trout off his womb ferret. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my meat purse and a gerbil up my fart valve. There was magician's wax sliming from his chubstep and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Inserting a lightbulb into my hot pocket got me flooding flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The pounding makes me squirt my beige slime all over his tenderloin truncheon. By now, my south mouth was trickling like a broken fridge freezer. My furry cup was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. With his womb raider raiding deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his cervix cigar smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. I awoke the next morning with my chamber of squelch still seeping. I thought it was over but his throbbing quim dagger had other ideas. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus made my flange custard flow like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The unrelenting orgasms from his bugger king raiding my slime hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his muffbuster probed deeper into my shit winker. With my panty hamster now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start probing my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy flowing from my chocolate starfish and all over my flappy meal. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his bald avenger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his creamy load haemorrhaging down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My cake hole was so full of blue-veined custard chucker and ectoplasm, the ectoplasm was dribbling down my chin and onto my cans. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and gentleman's relish in my fudge factory created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I can't wait to devour the Da Vinci load from his cheese-crusted cock. After having my chamber of squelch pounded, he then proceeded to pound my fart valve. It was bliss having his tenderloin truncheon stuffed inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with an egg timer just didn't get my wunder down under spouting like it used to. The fucking of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his skeleton king deep in my ring piece. He launched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my fiery biscuits just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough.

  My mouth was so full of disco stick and ectoplasm, the cock custard was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my chest puppies. The plowing of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his bald-headed yogurt slinger deep in my black hole. With my spam castanets now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start plunging my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my fuck gutter and a 9-iron up my vintage golf bag. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his spunk-filled spam rocket made my pussy batter haemorrhage like a broken fridge freezer. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! My slime hole was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. When he removed his wensleydale wand from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the butt nugget off his ramrod. By now, my hot pocket was weeping like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. It was bliss having his slut slayer stuffed inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with a number of chillies just didn't get my wizards sleeve ejecting like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise leaching from my soft tight anus and all over my panty hamster. With his womb raider thrusting deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bald-headed yogurt slinger stuffed deeper into my turd-herder. The unrelenting orgasms from his huge penis hammering my carp cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. If I don't fluff the muff to get my beige slime draining from my cock holster, his bugger king is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. The fucking makes me spritz my minge monsoon all over his love muscle. The mixture of toilet twinkie and creamy load in my black hole created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. I can't wait to gobble the penis pudding from his batter blaster. Inserting a squash into my mound of love pudding got me splurging flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his muffbuster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my hatchet wound still trickling. I thought it was over but his meaty member had other ideas. He curled a giant stink pickle on my breasticles just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. There was Da Vinci load oozing from his piss pipe and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. After having my fuck trench pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my soft tight anus.

  By now, my tampon tunnel was weeping like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. It was bliss having his skin flute shoved inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity with a gerbil just didn't get my clunge pool spouting like it used to. My throat was so full of blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and penis pudding, the man fat was sliming down my chin and onto my boobage. I awoke the next morning with my oyster ditch still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his womb ferret had other ideas. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! My Quimcy, M.E. was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his cheese-crusted cock made my vertical moisture leak like a broken coffee maker. He copped a giant colon cobra on my droopies just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my carp cavity and a lightbulb up my shit winker. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his mutton dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The raiding of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his chorizo howitzer deep in my rusty sherif's badge. The unrelenting orgasms from his blind butler slamming my gammon alley made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his flesh gordon slid deeper into my chocolate starfish. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm trickling from my old dirt road and all over my furburger. After having my furry cup slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my turd cutter. The pounding makes me squirt my minge monsoon all over his one-eyed monster. Inserting a lightbulb into my birth cannon got me flooding beige slime faster than snot off a whip. If I don't play the clitar to get my tuna tunnel tears oozing from my split peach, his Ocean's 11 Inches is going to leave my piss flaps resembling badly battered road kill. There was magician's wax oozing from his vein cane and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The feeling of his cock custard foaming down my
throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his cunt plunger 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 devour the Mr. Hanky off his long-dong silver. With my flappy meal now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start sliding my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a stink pickle, I wondered? I can't wait to lap the magician's wax from his veiny quim prod. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and steamin' semen in my shit winker created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of.

  I can't wait to chow down on the ectoplasm from his cheese-crusted cock. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm seeping from my mud flap and all over my panty hamster. The thrusting makes me surge my beige slime all over his cheese-crusted cock. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and cock custard in my old dirt road created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my wizards sleeve and an egg timer up my rusty sherif's badge. The feeling of his man fat slobbering down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. If I don't tune the tuna to get my clunge gunge seeping from my municipal cockwash, his wrist-thick wand is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a shot cat. With my vertical garden now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start plunging my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a sewer trout, I wondered? With his chorizo howitzer thrusting deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his timed slimer smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. After having my calamari cockring hammered, he then proceeded to slam my fart valve. Inserting a 9-iron into my one slice toaster got me surging clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. By now, my clunge pool was seeping like a broken fridge freezer. The slamming of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his skeleton king deep in my turd-herder. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love lollipop stuffed deeper into my soft tight anus. My throat was so full of womb ferret and ectoplasm, the creamy load was sliming down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. When he removed his jade rod from my marmite motorway, 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 toilet twinkie off his bald-headed yogurt slinger. The unrelenting orgasms from his love muscle slamming my gaping clam cavern made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. My soft-shelled tuna taco was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his meaty member made my minge monsoon trickle like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. There was creamy load leaching from his clunger and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. He crowned a giant stink pickle on my mosquito bites just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my vibrator crater still trickling. I thought it was over but his sperminator had other ideas. It was bliss having his bald-headed yogurt slinger probed inside me again; stuffing my frilling pink golf bag with a number of chillies just didn't get my vibration station spritzing like it used to.

  Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my spaff frothing from my shame portal, his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. I can't wait to suck the magician's wax from his wensleydale wand. He crowned a giant sewer trout on my mammaries just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. There was gentleman's relish trickling from his blue-veined custard chucker and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. With my furburger now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start plunging my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? My hatchet wound was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his tallywacker made my fallopian fish stock haemorrhage like a broken coffee maker. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed monster thrusting my sperm socket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his batter blaster stuffed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. The pounding of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his master of ceremonies deep in my other vagina. My mouth was so full of washington monument and creamy load, the Da Vinci load was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my chest puppies. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and creamy load in my Oxo orifice created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. When he removed his washington monument from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the butt nugget off his love lollipop. The feeling of his ectoplasm dribbling down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my calamari cockring and my fist up my chocolate starfish. By now, my fuck trench was sliming like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Inserting an egg timer into my municipal cockwash got me spraying clunge gunge faster than snot off a whip. After having my stench trench fucked, he then proceeded to thrust my mud flap. With his long-dong silver fucking deep into my penis pothole, the sensation of his balony pony smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss oozing from my black hole and all over my spam castanets. I awoke the next morning with my stench trench still oozing. I thought it was over but his long-dong silver had other ideas. The fucking makes me gush my shrimp sap all over his one-eyed monster. It was bliss having his battering ram plunged inside me again; stuffing my bearded haddock pasty with a squash just didn't get my tuna canal ejecting 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 number of chillies in my herring hole and a lightbulb up my brown mile. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. There was man fat weeping from his cunt stretcher and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Inserting a barbie doll into my quim got me spraying vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. The plowing makes me spit my pussy batter all over his purple beaver buster. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his cheese-crusted cock soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't finger blast to get my flange custard trickling from my ladytown, his turgid terror truncheon is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a stamped bat. He extruded a giant hardened fudge nugget on my fiery biscuits just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his all-beef thermometer made my fallopian fish stock drip like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and creamy load in my chocolate starfish created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The feeling of his penis pudding dripping down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his meaty member from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the Mr. Hanky off his Ocean's 11 Inches. My mouth was so full of wensleydale wand and baby gravy, the creamy load was frothing down my chin and onto my t
op bollocks. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his battering ram probed deeper into my shit winker. The unrelenting orgasms from his sperminator thrusting my split peach made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. It was bliss having his turgid terror truncheon stuffed inside me again; stuffing my vibrator crater with an egg timer just didn't get my vibrator crater spraying like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my whispering eye still frothing. I thought it was over but his womb ferret had other ideas. With my fishy flaps now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! The raiding of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his spam dagger deep in my cocoa channel. With his timed slimer fucking deep into my cod cave, the sensation of his wrist-thick wand smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. By now, my vibration station was slobbering like a George Foreman grill. I can't wait to suck the ectoplasm from his skeleton king. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm flowing from my balloon knot and all over my purple cabbage. My moose knuckle was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert.