by Amy Woods
The unrelenting orgasms from his wrist-thick wand fucking my soft-shelled tuna taco made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. My mouth was so full of tallywacker and creamy load, the cock custard was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my mammaries. The plowing makes me gush my shrimp sap all over his cervix cigar. Inserting a gerbil into my mound of love pudding got me splurging tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Nelson's Column probed deeper into my brown mile. I awoke the next morning with my south mouth still leaking. I thought it was over but his muffbuster had other ideas. The feeling of his baby gravy flowing down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. There was ectoplasm slobbering from his balony pony and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. After having my hatchet wound slammed, he then proceeded to pound my vintage golf bag. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his battering ram soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his jade rod made my vertical moisture slime like a broken coffee maker. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! With my vertical smile now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start sliding my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a butt nugget, I wondered? I can't wait to consume the creamy load from his disco stick. With his tenderloin truncheon pounding deep into my mound of love pudding, the sensation of his huge penis smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. By now, my one slice toaster was leaching like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. If I don't fish for pearls to get my shrimp sap leaching from my front bum, his long-dong silver is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a dropped burrito. It was bliss having his huge penis plunged inside me again; stuffing my wunder down under with a gerbil just didn't get my stench trench flowing like it used to. The fucking of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his greasy slimelight deep in my poop chute. He extruded a giant sewer trout on my tatas just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My south mouth was trembling like jelly. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my cod canyon and my fist up my mud flap. When he removed his all-beef thermometer from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the butt nugget off his jade rod. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise sliming from my shit winker and all over my fishy flaps. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and cock snot in my black hole created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of.
With his cunt plunger raiding deep into my meat purse, the sensation of his Ocean's 11 Inches smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding oozing from my brown mile and all over my meaty hangers. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! The feeling of his love mayonnaise haemorrhaging down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He arced a giant stink pickle on my chest puppies just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. By now, my split peach was dribbling like a hungry pig at a trough. The unrelenting orgasms from his Nelson's Column pounding my whispering eye made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. I awoke the next morning with my tuna canal still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his vein cane had other ideas. The hammering of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his cervix cigar deep in my rusty bullet hole. It was bliss having his bald-headed yogurt slinger slid inside me again; stuffing my split peach with a 9-iron just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag pouring like it used to. The raiding makes me splurge my pussy batter all over his Nelson's Column. My throat was so full of jade rod and baby gravy, the baby gravy was oozing down my chin and onto my cans. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my meat purse and a barbie doll up my turd cutter. I can't wait to lap the ectoplasm from his ample cock. If I don't finger blast to get my tuna tunnel tears sliming from my cod crater, his batter blaster is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. Inserting a 9-iron into my one slice toaster got me flowing flange custard faster than snot off a whip. My smush mitten was trembling like a rat on acid. When he removed his battering ram from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the colon cobra off his muffbuster. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. There was steamin' semen frothing from his cunt stretcher and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cheese-crusted cock probed deeper into my marmite motorway. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his sperminator made my sex wee seep like a slug in a salt mine. With my spam castanets now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start shoving my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a stink pickle, I wondered? After having my enchilada of love thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my balloon knot. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and ectoplasm in my mud flap created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of.
Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! With his stilton sword pounding deep into my vibration station, the sensation of his cunt stretcher smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. He curled a giant butt nugget on my chesticles just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The unrelenting orgasms from his Ocean's 11 Inches plowing my hatchet wound made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. When he removed his love lollipop from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the footlong fudge bullet off his bald avenger. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt plunger rammed deeper into my soft tight anus. My mouth was so full of spam dagger and love piss, the magician's wax was sliming down my chin and onto my chest puppies. If I don't play the clitar to get my minge monsoon frothing from my chlamydia canal, his Nelson's Column is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling the south end of a badger going north. There was steamin' semen draining from his disco stick and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his tenderloin truncheon probed inside me again; stuffing my pink velvet sausage wallet with a gerbil just didn't get my shamevelope gushing like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise dribbling from my turd-herder and all over my piss flaps. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and Da Vinci load in my puckered brown eye created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. 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 fuck trench and a lightbulb up my Oxo orifice. By now, my carp cavity was oozing like a rabid dog. I awoke the next morning with my ladytown still trickling. I thought it was over but his giggle stick had other ideas. My split peach was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. I can't wait to suck the cock snot from his cream reaper. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my calamari cockring got me squirting clunge gunge faster than a greas
ed weasel shit. The feeling of his magician's wax sliming down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip. After having my front bum raided, he then proceeded to thrust my Mavis Fritter. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his gristle missile made my fallopian fish stock trickle like a slavering dog. With my fishy flaps now much like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start probing my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a sewer trout, I wondered? The hammering makes me spritz my fallopian fish stock all over his cervix cigar.
The mixture of colon cobra and creamy load in my shit winker created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his ramrod fucking my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. The slamming makes me spout my clunge gunge all over his master of ceremonies. With my velcro triangle now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start shoving my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? After having my municipal cockwash fucked, he then proceeded to slam my brown mile. My cod canyon was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. By now, my mound of love pudding was weeping like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. If I don't finger blast to get my tuna tunnel tears dribbling from my penis pothole, his spam dagger is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a gutted trout. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my cock holster and a gerbil up my turd-herder. The plowing of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his love lollipop deep in my mud flap. When he removed his cream reaper from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the butt nugget off his timed slimer. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his veiny quim prod made my clunge gunge drain like a hungry pig at a trough. It was bliss having his ramrod stuffed inside me again; stuffing my Quimcy, M.E. with a gerbil just didn't get my clearing in the woods ejecting like it used to. Inserting a squash into my vibrator crater got me surging pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. The feeling of his cock snot draining down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my ladytown still frothing. I thought it was over but his skin flute had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his turgid terror truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. My cake hole was so full of gristle missile and love piss, the cock snot was leaching down my chin and onto my rack. There was baby gravy oozing from his love muscle and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. He eased out a giant toilet twinkie on my mosquito bites just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With his veiny quim prod slamming deep into my herring hole, the sensation of his stilton sword smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tenderloin truncheon rammed deeper into my Oxo orifice. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm slobbering from my soft tight anus and all over my spam castanets.
There was creamy load trickling from his stilton sword and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The feeling of his baby gravy dripping down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his disco stick fucking deep into my fuck trench, the sensation of his kebeb skewer smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his cunt stretcher soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He extruded a giant toilet twinkie on my breasticles just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! The fucking makes me spit my flange custard all over his giggle stick. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Inserting a 9-iron into my cum dumpster got me flowing beige slime faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his Nelson's Column. After having my south mouth thrusted, he then proceeded to raid my vintage golf bag. The mixture of toilet twinkie and cock custard in my balloon knot created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. My Quimcy, M.E. was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. With my clap flaps now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start ramming my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? My mouth was so full of chubstep and cock snot, the gentleman's relish was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my chesticles. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my split peach and a number of chillies up my mud flap. By now, my clam-flavoured pothole was oozing like a leaky tap. If I don't buff the muff to get my fallopian fish stock foaming from my spunk dungeon, his cream reaper is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a stamped bat. It was bliss having his womb raider stuffed inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with an antique doorknob just didn't get my herring hole gushing like it used to. The slamming of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his chubstep deep in my marmite motorway. The unrelenting orgasms from his cumtree pounding my depravity cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. I awoke the next morning with my bearded haddock pasty still weeping. I thought it was over but his Nelson's Column had other ideas. When he removed his jade rod from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the colon cobra off his cumtree. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his veiny quim prod plunged deeper into my mud flap. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my spaff froth like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls.
Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! When he removed his womb ferret from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his purple-headed trouser snake. Inserting a gerbil into my tuna canal got me spraying shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The slamming makes me pour my vertical moisture all over his womb ferret. After having my spunk dungeon pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my poop chute. He rolled a giant footlong fudge bullet on my sweater puppies just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. My cake hole was so full of cunt plunger and creamy load, the love mayonnaise was oozing down my chin and onto my breasticles. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his all-beef thermometer rammed deeper into my mud flap. With his blue-veined custard chucker fucking deep into my cod canyon, the sensation of his stilton sword smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The feeling of his gentleman's relish sliming down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than snot off a whip. By now, my cod canyon was dribbling like a slavering dog. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his skin flute made my sex wee weep like a jizz waterfall. With my vertical smile now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start stuffing my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a butt nugget, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm leaching from my poop chute and all over my meaty hangers. There was cock snot frothing from his spunk-fil
led spam rocket and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I can't wait to suck the love piss from his flesh gordon. It was bliss having his cheese-crusted cock stuffed inside me again; stuffing my ground zero grotto with a 9-iron just didn't get my gaping clam cavern spraying like it used to. The mixture of stink pickle and penis pudding in my turd cutter created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. My clunge pool was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick pounding my Quimcy, M.E. made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. The slamming of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his sperminator deep in my poo pipe. If I don't fluff the muff to get my tuna tunnel tears frothing from my carp cavity, his throbbing quim dagger is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a horse's collar. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his cumtree soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my vibrator crater still draining. I thought it was over but his stilton sword had other ideas.
