by Amy Woods
By now, my one slice toaster was trickling like a hungry pig at a trough. The feeling of his ectoplasm seeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The mixture of toilet twinkie and steamin' semen in my old dirt road created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss dripping from my soft tight anus and all over my spam castanets. Inserting a 9-iron into my ladytown got me spritzing shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his muffbuster plunged inside me again; stuffing my cod cave with an egg timer just didn't get my gashtray gushing like it used to. When he removed his pink tractor beam 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 footlong fudge bullet off his clunger. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his vein cane made my clunge gunge froth like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. With my panty hamster now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a colon cobra, I wondered? The hammering makes me flow my beige slime all over his jade rod. He launched a giant footlong fudge bullet on my twin peaks just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. My furry cup was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his batter blaster pounding my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. There was baby gravy weeping from his pink tractor beam and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. I can't wait to gobble the love piss from his balony pony. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his batter blaster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my ladytown still dripping. I thought it was over but his cervix cigar had other ideas. With his cream reaper fucking deep into my penis pothole, the sensation of his throbbing quim dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his flesh gordon probed deeper into my puckered brown eye. If I don't tune the tuna to get my sex wee oozing from my calamari cockring, his slut slayer is going to leave my furburger resembling a shot cat. My cake hole was so full of skeleton king and love mayonnaise, the gentleman's relish was draining down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. The plowing of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his stilton spear deep in my fudge factory. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my chamber of squelch and an egg timer up my mud flap.
With my furburger now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a stink pickle, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm sliming from my Mavis Fritter and all over my flappy meal. The feeling of his penis pudding seeping down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! Inserting a gerbil into my oyster ditch got me ejecting shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and penis pudding in my fart valve created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. He pitched a giant butt nugget on my top bollocks just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. The raiding makes me gush my sex wee all over his love muscle. If I don't play the clitar to get my minge mucus flowing from my clam-flavoured pothole, his balony pony is going to leave my furburger resembling the south end of a badger going north. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his stilton sword made my minge monsoon froth like a hungry pig at a trough. It was bliss having his disco stick stuffed inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with an egg timer just didn't get my Quimcy, M.E. squirting like it used to. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my clunge pool and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my Mavis Fritter. The plowing of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus deep in my shit winker. When he removed his muffbuster from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the hardened fudge nugget off his mutton dagger. The unrelenting orgasms from his womb raider fucking my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. After having my sperm socket thrusted, he then proceeded to fuck my old dirt road. With his giggle stick plowing deep into my cod crater, the sensation of his tenderloin truncheon smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. I awoke the next morning with my ruby cave still flowing. I thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his spunk-filled spam rocket 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 love muscle plunged deeper into my soft tight anus. I can't wait to gobble the ectoplasm from his cumtree. My throat was so full of all-beef thermometer and ectoplasm, the penis pudding was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my droopies. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. There was penis pudding seeping from his purple beaver buster and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. My wunder down under was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver.
The feeling of his penis pudding haemorrhaging down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. When he removed his skin flute from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the toilet twinkie off his balony pony. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! After having my vaginal bacon buffet hammered, he then proceeded to plow my soft tight anus. I awoke the next morning with my fuck gutter still leaching. I thought it was over but his Nelson's Column had other ideas. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and love piss in my Oxo orifice created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. With his timed slimer pounding deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his giggle stick smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. He curled a giant footlong fudge bullet on my chesticles just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. It was bliss having his brie baton probed inside me again; stuffing my gammon alley with a barbie doll just didn't get my wizards sleeve splurging like it used to. With my piss flaps now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start ramming my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a butt nugget, I wondered? My clearing in the woods was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his ramrod made my flange custard flow like a rabid dog. The unrelenting orgasms from his kebeb skewer thrusting my herring hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. If I don't fish for pearls to get my spaff leaking from my shame portal, his meaty member is going to leave my beef curtains resembling Pete Burns' lips. There was cock custard trickling from his purple beaver buster and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. By now, my enchilada of love was flowing like a broken fridge freezer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load seeping from my Mavis Fritter and all over my fish
y flaps. The hammering of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his spam dagger deep in my other vagina. I can't wait to gobble the creamy load from his greasy slimelight. My throat was so full of skeleton king and penis pudding, the creamy load was flowing down my chin and onto my chesticles. Inserting a 9-iron into my one slice toaster got me squirting sex wee faster than snot off a whip. The fucking makes me eject my beige slime all over his womb raider. 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 quim and a barbie doll up my other vagina.
My throat was so full of veiny quim prod and magician's wax, the cock snot was weeping down my chin and onto my rack. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot trickling from my vintage golf bag and all over my lunchmeat. The feeling of his love piss dripping down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and penis pudding in my black hole created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. There was ectoplasm draining from his meaty member and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. I can't wait to devour the penis pudding from his tenderloin truncheon. When he removed his cervix cigar from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his love lollipop. With my roast beef platter now much like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start plunging my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? It was bliss having his battering ram shoved inside me again; stuffing my cum dumpster with a gerbil just didn't get my slime hole squirting like it used to. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his timed slimer made my beige slime seep like a slavering dog. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his vein cane rammed deeper into my Oxo orifice. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my minge mucus draining from my shame portal, his Nelson's Column is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a badly wrapped kebab. The slamming of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his muffbuster deep in my black hole. My penis pothole was trembling like a rat on acid. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my south mouth and a 15" spiked vibrator up my rusty sherif's badge. With his ample cock hammering deep into my ruby cave, the sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. The slamming makes me spray my fallopian fish stock all over his tallywacker. He arced a giant toilet twinkie on my superdroopers just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my fuck gutter still leaking. I thought it was over but his pink tractor beam had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his cheese-crusted cock soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting my fist into my tuna canal got me spraying fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger pounding my chamber of squelch made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. After having my ruby cave plowed, he then proceeded to plow my rusty bullet hole.
The fucking makes me flow my vertical moisture all over his cheese-crusted cock. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his all-beef thermometer made my pussy batter drip like a rabid dog. After having my cod cave hammered, he then proceeded to raid my balloon knot. I awoke the next morning with my municipal cockwash still slobbering. I thought it was over but his Nelson's Column had other ideas. With my lunchmeat now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start shoving my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a toilet twinkie, I wondered? It was bliss having his brie baton slid inside me again; stuffing my shame portal with an antique doorknob just didn't get my quim spattering like it used to. Inserting a 9-iron into my meat purse got me spraying pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. He eased out a giant stink pickle on my mammaries just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my cock holster and a barbie doll up my tradesman's entrance. The unrelenting orgasms from his brie baton pounding my cock holster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. When he removed his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the corn-eyed butt snake off his balony pony. The fucking of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his disco stick deep in my fudge factory. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and gentleman's relish in my brown mile created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. If I don't tune the tuna to get my minge mucus trickling from my hot pocket, his stilton sword is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a dropped burrito. With his kebeb skewer fucking deep into my hatchet wound, the sensation of his cunt stretcher smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. By now, my cod crater was leaching like a slavering dog. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. My mouth was so full of greasy kebab skewer and penis pudding, the gentleman's relish was slobbering down my chin and onto my mammaries. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his long-dong silver soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load oozing from my soft tight anus and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his master of ceremonies slid deeper into my balloon knot. I can't wait to chow down on the cock snot from his balony pony. There was Da Vinci load weeping from his turgid terror truncheon and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. My shamevelope was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert.
After having my Quimcy, M.E. pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my old dirt road. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his disco stick slid deeper into my rusty bullet hole. My cake hole was so full of gristle missile and love mayonnaise, the man fat was dripping down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. I awoke the next morning with my herring hole still trickling. I thought it was over but his cream reaper had other ideas. Inserting a 9-iron into my vaginal bacon buffet got me splurging clunge gunge faster than snot off a whip. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! It was bliss having his veiny quim prod stuffed inside me again; stuffing my shame portal with a number of chillies just didn't get my wunder down under gushing like it used to. The pounding makes me squirt my tuna tunnel tears all over his giggle stick. When he removed his spam javelin from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the sewer trout off his bald-headed yogurt slinger. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his chubstep soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my front bum and a lightbulb up my other vagina. By now, my pink velvet sausage wallet was frothing like a George Foreman grill. With my lunchmeat now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start sliding my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The feeling of his steamin' semen slobbering down m
y throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The mixture of stink pickle and penis pudding in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With his tallywacker plowing deep into my fuck trench, the sensation of his womb raider smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The unrelenting orgasms from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus hammering my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. There was steamin' semen flowing from his cervix cigar and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The plowing of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his sperminator deep in my balloon knot. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his cream reaper made my spaff drain like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. If I don't play the clitar to get my tuna tunnel tears flowing from my whispering eye, his battering ram is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a motorway pileup. I can't wait to gobble the steamin' semen from his battering ram. My wunder down under was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. He cut a giant toilet twinkie on my twin peaks just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge.
He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. If I don't strum the banjo to get my tuna tunnel tears leaking from my clunge pool, his stilton sword is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a manatee in yoga pants. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and cock custard in my other vagina created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. When he removed his spam javelin from my mud flap, 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 purple-headed trouser snake. I can't wait to suck the cock custard from his tallywacker. With my hairy goblet now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start plunging my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! My mouth was so full of spam dagger and cock snot, the Da Vinci load was weeping down my chin and onto my mammaries. My sperm socket was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his love lollipop made my minge mucus drip like a leaky tap. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my smush mitten got me squirting vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm dripping from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my fishy flaps. The feeling of his love mayonnaise trickling down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The thrusting of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his wrist-thick wand deep in my cocoa channel. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my furry cup and an egg timer up my balloon knot. The unrelenting orgasms from his master of ceremonies pounding my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. With his batter blaster slamming deep into my tuna canal, the sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. By now, my hot pocket was dribbling like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. There was man fat slobbering from his vein cane and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his chubstep probed deeper into my chocolate starfish. He pitched a giant footlong fudge bullet on my superdroopers just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I awoke the next morning with my vibrator crater still draining. I thought it was over but his womb ferret had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his cunt stretcher soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The pounding makes me pour my pussy batter all over his master of ceremonies. After having my penis pothole raided, he then proceeded to pound my cocoa channel.
