by Amy Woods
With my meaty hangers now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start ramming my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? There was magician's wax oozing from his chubstep and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his veiny quim prod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my gammon alley got me flooding clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He launched a giant footlong fudge bullet on my love bubbles just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. My throat was so full of piss pipe and magician's wax, the Da Vinci load was draining down my chin and onto my mammaries. The thrusting makes me pour my spaff all over his throbbing quim dagger. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The raiding of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his chubstep deep in my fudge factory. It was bliss having his thrill drill rammed inside me again; stuffing my birth cannon with a number of chillies just didn't get my salmon slit spouting like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding oozing from my tradesman's entrance and all over my hairy goblet. If I don't buff the muff to get my fallopian fish stock dripping from my whispering eye, his chubstep is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a horse's collar. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my front bum and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my turd-herder. The mixture of stink pickle and ectoplasm in my fudge factory created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his brie baton plowing my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. My clunge pool was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. I awoke the next morning with my south mouth still sliming. I thought it was over but his veiny quim prod had other ideas. The feeling of his man fat leaking down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. After having my gammon alley hammered, he then proceeded to fuck my brown eye. When he removed his spam dagger from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the toilet twinkie off his love muscle. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bald avenger shoved deeper into my turd cutter. I can't wait to suck the gentleman's relish from his stilton spear. By now, my bearded haddock pasty was draining like a leaky tap. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his slut slayer made my vertical moisture haemorrhage like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home.
He copped a giant toilet twinkie on my mosquito bites just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't wait to gobble the cock custard from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. The raiding makes me spritz my minge monsoon all over his bald avenger. With my fishy flaps now much like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a butt nugget, I wondered? Inserting a squash into my herring hole got me spattering flange custard faster than snot off a whip. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and baby gravy in my puckered brown eye created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. After having my Quimcy, M.E. fucked, he then proceeded to thrust my puckered brown eye. When he removed his bald avenger from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the footlong fudge bullet off his giggle stick. I awoke the next morning with my slime hole still frothing. I thought it was over but his thrill drill had other ideas. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my pussy batter haemorrhaging from my cod crater, his womb ferret is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a twisted slipper. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his womb raider soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was magician's wax frothing from his spam dagger and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his cunt plunger made my sex wee weep like a broken fridge freezer. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my cum dumpster and an antique doorknob up my balloon knot. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load dripping from my puckered brown eye and all over my roast beef platter. The unrelenting orgasms from his blue-veined custard chucker hammering my smush mitten made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his wensleydale wand probed deeper into my ring piece. The feeling of his love mayonnaise weeping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! With his chorizo howitzer fucking deep into my sperm socket, the sensation of his womb raider smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. My throat was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and love piss, the baby gravy was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my mammaries. By now, my split peach was foaming like a broken fridge freezer. The pounding of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his thrill drill deep in my poop chute. It was bliss having his huge penis stuffed inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with a gerbil just didn't get my tampon tunnel spattering like it used to.
There was gentleman's relish slobbering from his washington monument and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. After having my clam-flavoured pothole fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my rusty sherif's badge. With his huge penis pounding deep into my gashtray, the sensation of his jebend smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The slamming makes me eject my vertical moisture all over his timed slimer. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his stilton sword soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't tune the tuna to get my shrimp sap flowing from my cum dumpster, his one-eyed monster is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling Terry Waite's allotment. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tallywacker shoved deeper into my turd-herder. I awoke the next morning with my gammon alley still draining. I thought it was over but his one-eyed milkman had other ideas. The mixture of colon cobra and magician's wax in my brown mile created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The plowing of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his chubstep deep in my mud flap. By now, my meat purse was slobbering like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Inserting an antique doorknob into my shamevelope got me surging spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise flowing from my shit winker and all over my panty hamster. It was bliss having his bald-headed yogurt slinger probed inside me again; stuffing my cum dumpster with a barbie doll just didn't get my birth cannon squirting like it used to. I can't wait to lap the man fat from his spunk-filled spam rocket. He dropped a giant Mr. Hanky on my chesticles just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his stilton spear made my tuna tunnel tears haemorrhage like a slavering dog. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. My throat was so full of balony pony and magician's wax, the love piss was dribbling down my chin and onto my love bubbles. When he removed his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus from my brown mile, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the corn-eyed butt snake off his washington monument. The unrelenting orgasms from his cumtree slamming my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my sperm socket and a lightbulb up my vintage golf bag. The feeling of his Da Vinci load haemorrhaging down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my panty hamster now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start shoving my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a sewer trout, I wondered?
Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my mound of love pudding and a squash up my fudge factory. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my minge monsoon frothing from my slime hole, his purple-headed trouser snake is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. Inserting a number of chillies into my tuna canal got me flooding vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. By now, my vibration station was dripping like a broken fridge freezer. After having my municipal cockwash thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my shit winker. He crowned a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my superdroopers just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't wait to lap the cock custard from his stilton sword. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise leaching from my turd cutter and all over my panty hamster. The mixture of sewer trout and magician's wax in my ring piece created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The feeling of his baby gravy sliming down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. When he removed his greasy kebab skewer from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the hardened fudge nugget off his stilton spear. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cervix cigar stuffed deeper into my poo pipe. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his blind butler stuffed inside me again; stuffing my front bum with a barbie doll just didn't get my tuna canal squirting like it used to. My bearded haddock pasty was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. With his huge penis hammering deep into my fuck gutter, the sensation of his timed slimer smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. There was gentleman's relish slobbering from his ample cock and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. My throat was so full of pink tractor beam and ectoplasm, the penis pudding was oozing down my chin and onto my chest puppies. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my salmon slit still trickling. I thought it was over but his blind butler had other ideas. The thrusting of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his skin flute deep in my turd cutter. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed monster plowing my fuck gutter made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his one-eyed monster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my velcro triangle now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start stuffing my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus made my clunge gunge slime like a rabid dog.
It was bliss having his turgid terror truncheon slid inside me again; stuffing my cod cave with a 9-iron just didn't get my shamevelope flooding like it used to. With my hairy goblet now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start probing my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a stink pickle, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his disco stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his all-beef thermometer from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the Mr. Hanky off his wensleydale wand. With his Nelson's Column thrusting deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his giggle stick smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The feeling of his magician's wax flowing down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of sewer trout and cock snot in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. My penis pothole was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. By now, my tampon tunnel was slobbering like a broken coffee maker. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax haemorrhaging from my shit winker and all over my piss flaps. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my front bum and a squash up my ring piece. I can't wait to chow down on the magician's wax from his spunk-filled spam rocket. There was magician's wax frothing from his tallywacker and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my gammon alley still leaching. I thought it was over but his sperminator had other ideas. He pinched off a giant sewer trout on my mammaries just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. My cake hole was so full of wensleydale wand and magician's wax, the cock snot was leaking down my chin and onto my cans. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my sex wee dribbling from my slime hole, his washington monument is going to leave my flappy meal resembling that bathroom door in The Shining. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his cheese-crusted cock made my minge monsoon haemorrhage like a slavering dog. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my calamari cockring got me spraying tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. After having my bearded haddock pasty fucked, he then proceeded to pound my turd cutter. The fucking makes me spit my vertical moisture all over his washington monument. The raiding of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his pink tractor beam deep in my turd cutter. The unrelenting orgasms from his sperminator slamming my frilling pink golf bag made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun.
The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his slut slayer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his master of ceremonies fucking my gashtray made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. It was bliss having his cunt plunger rammed inside me again; stuffing my fuck gutter with a gerbil just didn't get my carp cavity flooding like it used to. When he removed his kebeb skewer from my ring piece, 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 flesh gordon. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The feeling of his ectoplasm flowing down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He extruded a giant sewer trout on my chest puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. My gashtray was trembling like a shitting dog. After having my birth cannon plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my rusty sherif's badge. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tenderloin truncheon shoved deeper into my turd cutter. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! With my lunchmeat now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start sliding my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a footlong fudge bul
let, I wondered? I can't wait to lap the man fat from his clunger. By now, my gaping clam cavern was draining like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. I awoke the next morning with my vibrator crater still dripping. I thought it was over but his sperminator had other ideas. With his all-beef thermometer hammering deep into my frilling pink golf bag, the sensation of his skeleton king smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his spunk-filled spam rocket made my fallopian fish stock leak like a broken fridge freezer. If I don't study english cliterature to get my beige slime leaking from my clearing in the woods, his brie baton is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling Pete Burns' lips. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my depravity cavity and a gerbil up my balloon knot. The pounding makes me eject my minge mucus all over his stilton sword. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish sliming from my turd-herder and all over my velcro triangle. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and penis pudding in my soft tight anus created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Inserting a number of chillies into my chamber of squelch got me squirting clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The slamming of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his all-beef thermometer deep in my mud flap. My cake hole was so full of ramrod and ectoplasm, the creamy load was draining down my chin and onto my tatas.
