The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  The feeling of his penis pudding oozing down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With his cunt stretcher fucking deep into my municipal cockwash, the sensation of his veiny quim prod smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his wensleydale wand soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his tenderloin truncheon pounding my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. My mouth was so full of slut slayer and creamy load, the love mayonnaise was dripping down my chin and onto my breasticles. With my hairy goblet now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start probing my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a colon cobra, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat foaming from my soft tight anus and all over my panty hamster. There was cock snot frothing from his bugger king and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The hammering makes me gush my pussy batter all over his chorizo howitzer. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cheese-crusted cock probed deeper into my rusty bullet hole. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his spam javelin made my fallopian fish stock ooze like a jizz waterfall. He rolled a giant colon cobra on my cans just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my fallopian fish stock haemorrhaging from my herring hole, his purple-headed trouser snake is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a sand blasted tomato. By now, my tuna canal was leaching like a hungry pig at a trough. The plowing of my puckered brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his sperminator deep in my rusty sherif's badge. It was bliss having his chubstep rammed inside me again; stuffing my ruby cave with my fist just didn't get my municipal cockwash flowing like it used to. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! When he removed his skeleton king from my puckered brown eye, 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 Mr. Hanky off his piss pipe. After having my fuck gutter hammered, he then proceeded to pound my poop chute. I can't wait to suck the cock snot from his chubstep. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. My meat purse was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Inserting a squash into my calamari cockring got me pouring minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my chamber of squelch and a lightbulb up my fart valve. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and love piss in my puckered brown eye created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of.

  He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Inserting an egg timer into my whispering eye got me spraying vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. The pounding of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his balony pony deep in my black hole. With my clap flaps now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start sliding my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen foaming from my mud flap and all over my meaty hangers. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his chorizo howitzer made my shrimp sap weep like a slavering dog. It was bliss having his disco stick shoved inside me again; stuffing my fuck trench with a 9-iron just didn't get my mound of love pudding surging like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cervix cigar probed deeper into my balloon knot. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my whispering eye and a barbie doll up my rusty sherif's badge. After having my pink velvet sausage wallet plowed, he then proceeded to raid my puckered brown eye. My cake hole was so full of turgid terror truncheon and love piss, the baby gravy was flowing down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. If I don't play the clitar to get my shrimp sap haemorrhaging from my fuck gutter, his huge penis is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. When he removed his skeleton king from my soft tight anus, 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 corn-eyed butt snake off his slut slayer. With his thrill drill hammering deep into my Quimcy, M.E., the sensation of his Ocean's 11 Inches smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. There was love piss leaking from his huge penis and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my clearing in the woods still frothing. I thought it was over but his skeleton king had other ideas. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! By now, my moose knuckle was dripping like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. He blasted a giant footlong fudge bullet on my superdroopers just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I can't wait to gobble the ectoplasm from his battering ram. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The raiding makes me splurge my sex wee all over his meaty member. My tampon tunnel was trembling like a rat on acid. The unrelenting orgasms from his tallywacker slamming my calamari cockring made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. The mixture of sewer trout and steamin' semen in my old dirt road created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of.

  The mixture of colon cobra and cock custard in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The plowing of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his timed slimer deep in my chocolate starfish. The unrelenting orgasms from his chorizo howitzer slamming my hatchet wound made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his womb raider soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his veiny quim prod stuffed inside me again; stuffing my south mouth with a number of chillies just didn't get my stench trench surging like it used to. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! I can't wait to devour the penis pudding from his huge penis. When he removed his piss pipe from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the colon cobra off his master of ceremonies. If I don't fluff the muff to get my minge mucus dribbling from my Quimcy, M.E., his skin flute is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. With his flesh gordon thrusting deep into my wizards sleeve, the sensation of his bugger king smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. With my fishy flaps now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start ramming my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a toilet twinkie, I wondered? He dropped a giant sewer trout on my cans just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. There was steamin' semen leaking from his spam javelin and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. After having my soft-shelled tuna taco pounded, he then proceeded to raid my Oxo orifice. My chamber of squelch was trembling like a shitting dog. The feeling of his creamy load seeping down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his all-beef thermometer probed deeper into my poo pipe. By now, my ladytown was leaching like a broken coffee maker. The thrusting makes me flood my beige slime all over his cumtree. Some girls are h
appy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my sperm socket and an egg timer up my fudge factory. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his spam dagger made my minge mucus haemorrhage like a hungry pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my gammon alley still dribbling. I thought it was over but his tenderloin truncheon had other ideas. Inserting a gerbil into my cod cave got me flooding beige slime faster than snot off a whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding oozing from my ring piece and all over my velcro triangle.

  With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start probing my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a sewer trout, I wondered? The feeling of his baby gravy dripping down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My cake hole was so full of slut slayer and penis pudding, the Da Vinci load was sliming down my chin and onto my rack. The hammering of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his one-eyed monster deep in my soft tight anus. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my ground zero grotto got me squirting tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He arced a giant butt nugget on my droopies just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. It was bliss having his skin flute plunged inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with a 9-iron just didn't get my whispering eye spritzing like it used to. After having my clearing in the woods thrusted, he then proceeded to hammer my vintage golf bag. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. I can't wait to gobble the penis pudding from his stilton sword. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm dripping from my black hole and all over my hairy goblet. The unrelenting orgasms from his blue-veined custard chucker pounding my fuck trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. The mixture of sewer trout and penis pudding in my cocoa channel created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his batter blaster plunged deeper into my fudge factory. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his spam javelin soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my ruby cave still dripping. I thought it was over but his blue-veined custard chucker had other ideas. By now, my Quimcy, M.E. was flowing like a jizz waterfall. If I don't tune the tuna to get my vertical moisture dripping from my clam-flavoured pothole, his skin flute is going to leave my furburger resembling Terry Waite's allotment. There was magician's wax slobbering from his veiny quim prod and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my moose knuckle and an egg timer up my rusty sherif's badge. With his Nelson's Column slamming deep into my carp cavity, the sensation of his blind butler smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. My soft-shelled tuna taco was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! When he removed his all-beef thermometer from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the toilet twinkie off his washington monument. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his mutton dagger made my minge mucus haemorrhage like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home.

  The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and gentleman's relish in my brown eye created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The pounding of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his bald-headed yogurt slinger deep in my poo pipe. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load sliming from my brown mile and all over my roast beef platter. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his mutton dagger made my sex wee trickle like a broken fridge freezer. I can't wait to lap the love mayonnaise from his slut slayer. It was bliss having his cheese-crusted cock stuffed inside me again; stuffing my wunder down under with my fist just didn't get my herring hole flooding like it used to. The slamming makes me spritz my pussy batter all over his love lollipop. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my clunge gunge seeping from my pink velvet sausage wallet, his cunt stretcher is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. The feeling of his magician's wax leaking down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My carp cavity was trembling like jelly. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cervix cigar shoved deeper into my fudge factory. When he removed his greasy kebab skewer from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the butt nugget off his jade rod. He crowned a giant butt nugget on my breasticles just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. There was love mayonnaise flowing from his one-eyed monster and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my cod canyon and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my turd cutter. With his mutton dagger thrusting deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his stilton spear soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his Nelson's Column raiding my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. I awoke the next morning with my carp cavity still flowing. I thought it was over but his balony pony had other ideas. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my hatchet wound got me surging shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. After having my fuck trench raided, he then proceeded to hammer my brown mile. By now, my stench trench was foaming like a slavering dog. My mouth was so full of thrill drill and Da Vinci load, the man fat was foaming down my chin and onto my breasticles.

  There was gentleman's relish trickling from his timed slimer and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. After having my bearded haddock pasty plowed, he then proceeded to slam my brown mile. The unrelenting orgasms from his sperminator slamming my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his muffbuster made my pussy batter drip like a slavering dog. My throat was so full of giggle stick and cock custard, the gentleman's relish was trickling down my chin and onto my boobage. With my hairy goblet now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start sliding my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a butt nugget, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my cod cave still dribbling. I thought it was over but his disco stick had other ideas. I can't wait to devour the magician's wax from his spam javelin. The feeling of his ectoplasm draining down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My furry cup was trembling like jelly. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his spam dagger slid inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with a 9-iron just didn't get my smush mitten splurging like it used to. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my ladytown got me flooding fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my one slice toaster and a number of chillies up my cocoa channel. When he removed his b
rie baton from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his bald-headed yogurt slinger. With his balony pony thrusting deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his washington monument smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. He copped a giant stink pickle on my tatas just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bugger king stuffed deeper into my old dirt road. By now, my cod crater was slobbering like a leaky tap. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! The fucking makes me spout my fallopian fish stock all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax foaming from my other vagina and all over my spam castanets. The mixture of stink pickle and steamin' semen in my black hole created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The thrusting of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his cervix cigar deep in my Mavis Fritter. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his one-eyed monster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.