The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his huge penis made my vertical moisture leak like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. My gammon alley was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot leaking from my poo pipe and all over my lunchmeat. I can't wait to suck the penis pudding from his womb raider. By now, my front bum was dripping like a George Foreman grill. He curled a giant footlong fudge bullet on my chesticles just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. When he removed his greasy kebab skewer from my rusty sherif's badge, 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 colon cobra off his bugger king. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my split peach and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my marmite motorway. The thrusting of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his balony pony deep in my Oxo orifice. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! It was bliss having his balony pony plunged inside me again; stuffing my calamari cockring with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my clearing in the woods ejecting like it used to. With his jebend fucking deep into my whispering eye, the sensation of his love muscle smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. With my clap flaps now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start plunging my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a toilet twinkie, I wondered? He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock custard in my vintage golf bag created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my gaping clam cavern got me flowing shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his timed slimer stuffed deeper into my mud flap. The feeling of his cock snot haemorrhaging down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my chamber of squelch still dribbling. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had other ideas. If I don't play the clitar to get my sex wee haemorrhaging from my depravity cavity, his all-beef thermometer is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling the Japanese flag. The unrelenting orgasms from his slut slayer fucking my one slice toaster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his piss pipe soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The hammering makes me spray my flange custard all over his throbbing quim dagger. There was magician's wax draining from his all-beef thermometer and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. My mouth was so full of brie baton and love piss, the ectoplasm was sliming down my chin and onto my rack.

  Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his slut slayer stuffed deeper into my black hole. My cake hole was so full of one-eyed milkman and magician's wax, the love piss was sliming down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. I can't wait to chow down on the love mayonnaise from his stilton spear. There was baby gravy trickling from his greasy kebab skewer and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Inserting a barbie doll into my oyster ditch got me splurging fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise haemorrhaging from my turd-herder and all over my clap flaps. After having my mound of love pudding raided, he then proceeded to hammer my brown eye. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his skeleton king soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and gentleman's relish in my turd cutter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his long-dong silver shoved inside me again; stuffing my front bum with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my depravity cavity flowing like it used to. With my flappy meal now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start shoving my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? My cod canyon was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The hammering of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his greasy slimelight deep in my fart valve. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his jebend made my sex wee dribble like a rabid dog. When he removed his mutton dagger from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the corn-eyed butt snake off his stilton spear. With his greasy kebab skewer pounding deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet, the sensation of his clunger smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my meat purse and a number of chillies up my vintage golf bag. He cut a giant stink pickle on my chest puppies just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my fuck gutter still dripping. I thought it was over but his brie baton had other ideas. If I don't fluff the muff to get my minge monsoon slobbering from my pink velvet sausage wallet, his purple beaver buster is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a badly wrapped kebab. By now, my vibrator crater was draining like a hungry pig at a trough. The feeling of his magician's wax dripping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The slamming makes me spit my beige slime all over his battering ram.

  If I don't finger blast to get my fallopian fish stock slobbering from my spunk dungeon, his tenderloin truncheon is going to leave my spam castanets resembling a manatee in yoga pants. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. My clearing in the woods was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. I can't wait to suck the gentleman's relish from his meaty member. The raiding of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his purple beaver buster deep in my fudge factory. With my beef curtains now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start probing my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? With his bald-headed yogurt slinger plowing deep into my whispering eye, the sensation of his veiny quim prod smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. My mouth was so full of brie baton and baby gravy, the creamy load was trickling down my chin and onto my love bubbles. By now, my pink velvet sausage wallet was draining like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The mixture of butt nugget and penis pudding in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The feeling of his love piss flowing down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The raiding makes me spit my flange custard all over his cunt stretcher. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my stench trench and an egg timer up my cocoa channel. The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile slamming my vibration station made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. Inserting a barbie doll into my fuck gutter got me flooding flange custard faster than snot off a whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load foaming from my poo pipe and all over my lunchmeat. I awoke the next morning with my one slice toaster still sliming. I thought it was over but his mutton dagger had other ideas. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his huge penis made my tuna tunnel tears trickle like a George Foreman grill. He curled a giant footlong fudge bullet on
my sweater puppies just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton spear rammed deeper into my brown mile. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! It was bliss having his stilton spear slid inside me again; stuffing my cod canyon with a squash just didn't get my slime hole spraying like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his brie baton soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my cod crater fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my chocolate starfish. There was Da Vinci load leaching from his all-beef thermometer and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more.

  The thrusting of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his jebend deep in my brown mile. With my piss flaps now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? I can't wait to devour the ectoplasm from his throbbing quim dagger. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his batter blaster shoved deeper into my turd-herder. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard seeping from my marmite motorway and all over my spam castanets. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my kipper dinghy and a barbie doll up my ring piece. There was Da Vinci load slobbering from his greasy kebab skewer and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. If I don't study english cliterature to get my tuna tunnel tears flowing from my chlamydia canal, his Nelson's Column is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. The feeling of his cock custard seeping down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and penis pudding in my brown eye created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his giggle stick plunged inside me again; stuffing my chamber of squelch with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my clunge pool ejecting like it used to. My cake hole was so full of eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and love mayonnaise, the penis pudding was trickling down my chin and onto my top bollocks. After having my vibrator crater hammered, he then proceeded to fuck my tradesman's entrance. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. By now, my birth cannon was slobbering like a leaky tap. The unrelenting orgasms from his brie baton thrusting my furry cup made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his spam javelin made my fallopian fish stock trickle like a slavering dog. I awoke the next morning with my birth cannon still sliming. I thought it was over but his chorizo howitzer had other ideas. He pinched off a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my chest puppies just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting a number of chillies into my fuck gutter got me surging shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! The plowing makes me spout my minge monsoon all over his cunt plunger. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his bugger king soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his kebeb skewer raiding deep into my split peach, the sensation of his purple-headed trouser snake smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. When he removed his one-eyed monster from my ring piece, 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 skin flute.

  Inserting my fist into my whispering eye got me spraying clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! He curled a giant stink pickle on my droopies just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I awoke the next morning with my vaginal bacon buffet still leaching. I thought it was over but his all-beef thermometer had other ideas. With his wensleydale wand pounding deep into my clearing in the woods, the sensation of his balony pony smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The feeling of his penis pudding oozing down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. By now, my quim was oozing like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. With my vertical garden now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start plunging my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a stink pickle, I wondered? It was bliss having his womb raider slid inside me again; stuffing my depravity cavity with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my birth cannon squirting like it used to. My kipper dinghy was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The mixture of sewer trout and baby gravy in my brown mile created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my spunk dungeon and a barbie doll up my fart valve. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton sword probed deeper into my turd-herder. There was love piss leaching from his cunt stretcher and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his purple-headed trouser snake made my tuna tunnel tears froth like a broken coffee maker. My cake hole was so full of stilton spear and baby gravy, the cock custard was flowing down my chin and onto my boobage. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding flowing from my black hole and all over my panty hamster. The unrelenting orgasms from his cumtree thrusting my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. I can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his womb raider. If I don't flick the bean to get my pussy batter slobbering from my quim, his tallywacker is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling badly battered road kill. After having my clunge pool hammered, he then proceeded to pound my cocoa channel. The plowing makes me squirt my tuna tunnel tears all over his spam dagger. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his one-eyed milkman soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The hammering of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his mutton dagger deep in my black hole.

  It was bliss having his throbbing quim dagger probed inside me again; stuffing my sperm socket with an antique doorknob just didn't get my ruby cave spraying like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my depravity cavity still leaking. I thought it was over but his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus had other ideas. The raiding of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his master of ceremonies deep in my black hole. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my cod cave and a 9-iron up my brown eye. There was cock custard oozing from his veiny quim prod and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. By now, my gammon alley was frothing like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. With his skin flute plowing deep into my mound of love pudding, the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. When he removed his jebend from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the corn-eyed butt snake off his blue-veined custard chucker. My enchilada of love was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and steamin' semen in my chocolate starfish created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. He pitched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my boobage just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. After having my birth cannon hammered, he then proceeded to thrust my balloon knot. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating f
rom his Ocean's 11 Inches soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to consume the gentleman's relish from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen dripping from my vintage golf bag and all over my hairy goblet. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his pink tractor beam made my sex wee drain like a hungry pig at a trough. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his batter blaster rammed deeper into my puckered brown eye. The unrelenting orgasms from his turgid terror truncheon slamming my stench trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. My cake hole was so full of purple beaver buster and cock custard, the man fat was sliming down my chin and onto my breasticles. If I don't strum the banjo to get my fallopian fish stock dribbling from my ladytown, his love lollipop is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling the south end of a badger going north. With my flappy meal now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start stuffing my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The pounding makes me surge my minge monsoon all over his slut slayer. The feeling of his magician's wax sliming down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip.