by Amy Woods
There was gentleman's relish haemorrhaging from his purple beaver buster and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The plowing makes me spray my clunge gunge all over his devil's bagpipe. The unrelenting orgasms from his skin flute pounding my stench trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! He pitched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my mosquito bites just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. By now, my gaping clam cavern was sliming like a broken coffee maker. My mouth was so full of pink tractor beam and love piss, the steamin' semen was flowing down my chin and onto my rack. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. The pounding of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his stilton sword deep in my marmite motorway. With his slut slayer thrusting deep into my fuck trench, the sensation of his bald avenger smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my hot pocket and a squash up my vintage golf bag. The feeling of his ectoplasm weeping down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With my lunchmeat now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start ramming my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my front bum still leaking. I thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his spam javelin made my spaff haemorrhage like a rabid dog. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my beige slime trickling from my cum dumpster, his jebend is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a shot cat. My meat purse was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his purple beaver buster rammed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. When he removed his tallywacker from my black hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the corn-eyed butt snake off his Nelson's Column. Inserting my fist into my split peach got me gushing minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and gentleman's relish in my cocoa channel created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. I can't wait to chow down on the gentleman's relish from his batter blaster. It was bliss having his timed slimer slid inside me again; stuffing my pink velvet sausage wallet with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my cod cave spouting like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his wrist-thick wand soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my salmon slit fucked, he then proceeded to slam my black hole.
It was bliss having his sperminator slid inside me again; stuffing my clam-flavoured pothole with my fist just didn't get my cock holster spouting like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his disco stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He curled a giant Mr. Hanky on my fiery biscuits just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I awoke the next morning with my quim still dribbling. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had other ideas. If I don't tune the tuna to get my flange custard oozing from my pink velvet sausage wallet, his skeleton king is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling Pete Burns' lips. I can't wait to lap the magician's wax from his jebend. My enchilada of love was trembling like a rat on acid. My mouth was so full of slut slayer and magician's wax, the baby gravy was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my chest puppies. When he removed his Nelson's Column from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the toilet twinkie off his skeleton king. The slamming makes me flow my fallopian fish stock all over his muffbuster. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load seeping from my rusty bullet hole and all over my fishy flaps. After having my moose knuckle thrusted, he then proceeded to raid my Oxo orifice. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! With my hairy goblet now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start plunging my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his timed slimer stuffed deeper into my Oxo orifice. There was love piss weeping from his womb ferret and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon slamming my vaginal bacon buffet made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and Da Vinci load in my brown mile created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Inserting a lightbulb into my pink velvet sausage wallet got me spouting minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. The thrusting of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his wrist-thick wand deep in my fart valve. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his bald avenger made my sex wee trickle like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my slime hole and a gerbil up my chocolate starfish. By now, my stench trench was foaming like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The feeling of his Da Vinci load seeping down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load frothing from my turd-herder and all over my velcro triangle. I awoke the next morning with my fuck trench still flowing. I thought it was over but his pink tractor beam had other ideas. The feeling of his penis pudding oozing down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. By now, my depravity cavity was leaching like a George Foreman grill. The unrelenting orgasms from his skin flute raiding my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my sperm socket and an egg timer up my fudge factory. My throat was so full of jade rod and cock custard, the cock snot was flowing down my chin and onto my breasticles. With my flappy meal now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start ramming my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? If I don't tune the tuna to get my pussy batter oozing from my Quimcy, M.E., his giggle stick is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a twisted slipper. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! I can't wait to devour the man fat from his vein cane. With his love lollipop fucking deep into my cod crater, the sensation of his bald-headed yogurt slinger smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. There was ectoplasm flowing from his gristle missile and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. After having my sperm socket plowed, he then proceeded to hammer my turd-herder. The pounding makes me spout my tuna tunnel tears all over his skeleton king. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb ferret stuffed deeper into my poop chute. Inserting a number of chillies into my vibration station got me pouring minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel shit. It was bliss having his love muscle shoved inside me again; stuffing my cod canyon with a lightbulb just didn't get my carp cavity flowing like it used to. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his womb raider made my spaff seep like a slug in a salt mine. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. My tuna canal was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a
tumble dryer. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and creamy load in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his mutton dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his stilton sword from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the stink pickle off his bald avenger. He dropped a giant hardened fudge nugget on my rack just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge.
Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his veiny quim prod made my spaff froth like a slug in a salt mine. If I don't fish for pearls to get my beige slime leaking from my vibrator crater, his bugger king is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling badly battered road kill. The mixture of sewer trout and cock custard in my mud flap created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his pink tractor beam stuffed inside me again; stuffing my clunge pool with an egg timer just didn't get my gashtray splurging like it used to. There was magician's wax dribbling from his womb ferret and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The feeling of his man fat dribbling down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my beef curtains now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start shoving my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a stink pickle, I wondered? I can't wait to chow down on the love mayonnaise from his purple beaver buster. My throat was so full of cheese-crusted cock and man fat, the magician's wax was oozing down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. By now, my shamevelope was trickling like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring still foaming. I thought it was over but his skin flute had other ideas. He dropped a giant Mr. Hanky on my twin peaks just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. The slamming of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his Nelson's Column deep in my mud flap. Inserting a 9-iron into my vibration station got me flooding flange custard faster than snot off a whip. My depravity cavity was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The unrelenting orgasms from his mutton dagger slamming my carp cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. When he removed his stilton spear from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the butt nugget off his giggle stick. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his sperminator shoved deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. After having my gaping clam cavern thrusted, he then proceeded to hammer 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 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my ruby cave and a number of chillies up my chocolate starfish. The fucking makes me spritz my shrimp sap all over his Ocean's 11 Inches. With his one-eyed monster plowing deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his veiny quim prod smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his wrist-thick wand soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different!
When he removed his sperminator from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the sewer trout off his tenderloin truncheon. My clearing in the woods was trembling like a shitting dog. The thrusting makes me splurge my shrimp sap all over his blind butler. The raiding of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his one-eyed monster deep in my chocolate starfish. If I don't fish for pearls to get my flange custard haemorrhaging from my herring hole, his tallywacker is going to leave my flappy meal resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. The feeling of his love mayonnaise foaming down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Inserting a barbie doll into my mound of love pudding got me spraying spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My cake hole was so full of love muscle and Da Vinci load, the love piss was weeping down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. The mixture of butt nugget and magician's wax in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cheese-crusted cock stuffed deeper into my shit winker. I awoke the next morning with my cod canyon still leaching. I thought it was over but his purple beaver buster had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his womb raider soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my salmon slit hammered, he then proceeded to thrust my puckered brown eye. 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 slime hole and a number of chillies up my Mavis Fritter. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger slamming my herring hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. By now, my ground zero grotto was dribbling like a rabid dog. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his timed slimer made my shrimp sap slobber like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. He copped a giant butt nugget on my droopies just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't wait to devour the cock snot from his meaty member. With my lunchmeat now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start ramming my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a toilet twinkie, I wondered? There was magician's wax dripping from his purple-headed trouser snake and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss dripping from my Oxo orifice and all over my purple cabbage. It was bliss having his blue-veined custard chucker shoved inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia canal with an antique doorknob just didn't get my Quimcy, M.E. pouring like it used to. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different!
I can't wait to consume the penis pudding from his meaty member. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his batter blaster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding flowing from my poo pipe and all over my purple cabbage. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his cunt plunger made my sex wee slime like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. My cum dumpster was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The mixture of butt nugget and penis pudding in my other vagina created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Inserting a lightbulb into my cod cave got me gushing pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The feeling of his steamin' semen leaking 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 veiny quim prod slid deeper into my marmite motorway. With my piss flaps now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start sliding my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? The thrusting of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his gristle missile deep in my black hole. By now, my ruby cave was trickling like a George Foreman grill. 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 chamber of squelch and an antique doorknob up my fudge factory. When he removed his spunk-filled spam rocket from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the corn-eyed butt snake off his ramrod. With his womb raider plowing deep into my tuna canal, the sensation of his
balony pony smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my Quimcy, M.E. still weeping. I thought it was over but his long-dong silver had other ideas. He dropped a giant hardened fudge nugget on my rack just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My cake hole was so full of cumtree and penis pudding, the penis pudding was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. It was bliss having his purple beaver buster rammed inside me again; stuffing my pink velvet sausage wallet with my fist just didn't get my mound of love pudding spattering like it used to. If I don't finger blast to get my beige slime weeping from my calamari cockring, his mutton dagger is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a badly wrapped kebab. The unrelenting orgasms from his kebeb skewer pounding my tampon tunnel made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. There was cock snot seeping from his jade rod and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The pounding makes me squirt my vertical moisture all over his womb raider.
