by Amy Woods
When he removed his ramrod from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the corn-eyed butt snake off his long-dong silver. Inserting a lightbulb into my cod canyon got me spattering tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my bearded haddock pasty still trickling. I thought it was over but his sperminator had other ideas. The thrusting makes me flood my fallopian fish stock all over his jade rod. He eased out a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my tatas just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The feeling of his steamin' semen leaking down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my gashtray pounded, he then proceeded to raid my shit winker. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his jebend soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The hammering of my puckered brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his meaty member deep in my black hole. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! I can't wait to chow down on the creamy load from his blind butler. If I don't buff the muff to get my minge mucus oozing from my municipal cockwash, his muffbuster is going to leave my furburger resembling a ripped out fireplace. With his one-eyed monster raiding deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his flesh gordon smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his all-beef thermometer made my minge mucus leach like a George Foreman grill. 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 split peach and a 15" spiked vibrator up my chocolate starfish. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and love mayonnaise in my poop chute created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. By now, my carp cavity was leaching like a jizz waterfall. The unrelenting orgasms from his veiny quim prod raiding my whispering eye made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. With my vertical smile now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start ramming my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a colon cobra, I wondered? My salmon slit was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his flesh gordon plunged deeper into my old dirt road. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen dripping from my ring piece and all over my flappy meal. It was bliss having his slut slayer stuffed inside me again; stuffing my Quimcy, M.E. with a gerbil just didn't get my slime hole splurging like it used to. My cake hole was so full of washington monument and penis pudding, the Da Vinci load was trickling down my chin and onto my rack.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding oozing from my black hole and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. The unrelenting orgasms from his cheese-crusted cock hammering my calamari cockring made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. The mixture of sewer trout and creamy load in my marmite motorway created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The plowing makes me splurge my tuna tunnel tears all over his love muscle. The feeling of his cock custard sliming down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my salmon slit still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his thrill drill had other ideas. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his muffbuster made my minge monsoon trickle like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my tampon tunnel and a squash up my brown eye. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blue-veined custard chucker shoved deeper into my ring piece. I can't wait to devour the creamy load from his flesh gordon. With his love muscle thrusting deep into my ground zero grotto, the sensation of his thrill drill smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! When he removed his cumtree from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the sewer trout off his vein cane. By now, my quim was seeping like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his cunt plunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was love mayonnaise flowing from his blue-veined custard chucker and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. With my clap flaps now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start ramming my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? My throat was so full of wensleydale wand and creamy load, the magician's wax was flowing down my chin and onto my chest puppies. If I don't fluff the muff to get my shrimp sap slobbering from my frilling pink golf bag, his piss pipe is going to leave my clap flaps resembling the south end of a badger going north. My chlamydia canal was trembling like a rat on acid. After having my soft-shelled tuna taco slammed, he then proceeded to raid my fudge factory. Inserting a squash into my shame portal got me gushing beige slime faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He pitched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my superdroopers just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his kebeb skewer plunged inside me again; stuffing my meat purse with a 9-iron just didn't get my enchilada of love squirting like it used to.
With my spam castanets now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start stuffing my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise haemorrhaging from my ring piece and all over my vertical garden. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. He dropped a giant hardened fudge nugget on my chest puppies just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. My cake hole was so full of blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and magician's wax, the Da Vinci load was flowing down my chin and onto my droopies. 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 vibration station and a squash up my shit winker. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald-headed yogurt slinger plowing my pink velvet sausage wallet made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. The mixture of toilet twinkie and cock custard in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The slamming makes me squirt my minge mucus all over his womb raider. With his ramrod hammering deep into my mound of love pudding, the sensation of his love muscle smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. When he removed his stilton spear from my black hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the corn-eyed butt snake off his ramrod. The plowing of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his turgid terror truncheon deep in my fudge factory. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my clunge gunge leaching from my gammon alley, his spam javelin is going to leave my clap flaps resembling Brian May's plughole. It was bliss having his turgid terror truncheon rammed inside me again; stuffing my cod canyon with a squash just didn't get my spunk dungeon spattering like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blue-veined custard chucker probed deeper into my marmite motorway. I can't wait to devour the Da Vinci load from his clunger. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but
the sight of his throbbing quim dagger made my pussy batter flow like a broken coffee maker. Inserting a 9-iron into my ruby cave got me spraying vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. By now, my moose knuckle was oozing like a slavering dog. There was cock snot dribbling from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my herring hole still foaming. I thought it was over but his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas. After having my calamari cockring hammered, he then proceeded to pound my shit winker. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his clunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My kipper dinghy was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver.
I awoke the next morning with my frilling pink golf bag still dribbling. I thought it was over but his turgid terror truncheon had other ideas. If I don't finger blast to get my pussy batter frothing from my tampon tunnel, his all-beef thermometer is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a rabid baboon's arse. With his love muscle hammering deep into my shame portal, the sensation of his jade rod smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and creamy load in my other vagina created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The hammering of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his tenderloin truncheon deep in my chocolate starfish. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his cunt plunger made my beige slime dribble like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. He crowned a giant hardened fudge nugget on my breasticles just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. It was bliss having his cunt plunger rammed inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my wunder down under spattering like it used to. By now, my chamber of squelch was trickling like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my vaginal bacon buffet and a number of chillies up my Mavis Fritter. The feeling of his steamin' semen frothing down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his tenderloin truncheon from my black hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his slut slayer. My soft-shelled tuna taco was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. After having my municipal cockwash fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my shit winker. The unrelenting orgasms from his muffbuster slamming my tampon tunnel made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bald-headed yogurt slinger shoved deeper into my balloon knot. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start ramming my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat trickling from my fart valve and all over my purple cabbage. There was Da Vinci load frothing from his ample cock and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The plowing makes me squirt my flange custard all over his cumtree. I can't wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his disco stick. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my cod crater got me flooding minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his ramrod 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 battering ram shoved deeper into my balloon knot. My throat was so full of ample cock and steamin' semen, the magician's wax was oozing down my chin and onto my boobage. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his bald-headed yogurt slinger made my vertical moisture trickle like a jizz waterfall. There was steamin' semen draining from his wensleydale wand and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. When he removed his clunger from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the toilet twinkie off his throbbing quim dagger. After having my moose knuckle hammered, he then proceeded to pound my Mavis Fritter. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my south mouth and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my poop chute. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my shamevelope still draining. I thought it was over but his skeleton king had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his washington monument soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my birth cannon was dripping like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Inserting an egg timer into my quim got me spattering pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam javelin hammering my depravity cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. If I don't play the clitar to get my beige slime leaching from my cod crater, his cheese-crusted cock is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. The pounding makes me eject my spaff all over his long-dong silver. The raiding of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus deep in my vintage golf bag. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot dribbling from my tradesman's entrance and all over my velcro triangle. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! It was bliss having his mutton dagger probed inside me again; stuffing my south mouth with a 9-iron just didn't get my birth cannon spritzing like it used to. With my piss flaps now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start probing my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? With his clunger plowing deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his bald-headed yogurt slinger smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. He pitched a giant butt nugget on my droopies just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The mixture of toilet twinkie and love piss in my shit winker created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. My ruby cave was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The feeling of his love mayonnaise leaching down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.
When he removed his piss pipe from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the sewer trout off his batter blaster. The slamming of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his jade rod deep in my marmite motorway. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his master of ceremonies soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my clunge pool still draining. I thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas. My tampon tunnel was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The feeling of his penis pudding draining down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my vibrator crater pounded, he then proceeded to slam my poop chute. The unrelenting orgasms from his Nelson's Column plowing my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my front bum and a 15" spiked vibrator up my brown mile. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my spunk dungeon got me spraying vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his greasy slimelig
ht plunged deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. There was penis pudding haemorrhaging from his cream reaper and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his clunger rammed inside me again; stuffing my shamevelope with a barbie doll just didn't get my split peach spattering like it used to. I can't wait to lap the cock custard from his skeleton king. By now, my shamevelope was frothing like a George Foreman grill. With his skin flute plowing deep into my cod crater, the sensation of his tenderloin truncheon smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen flowing from my fudge factory and all over my meaty hangers. The hammering makes me spit my flange custard all over his cheese-crusted cock. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his Ocean's 11 Inches made my flange custard leach like a jizz waterfall. My cake hole was so full of spam javelin and creamy load, the baby gravy was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my chesticles. With my flappy meal now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a sewer trout, I wondered? The mixture of colon cobra and baby gravy in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. If I don't tune the tuna to get my fallopian fish stock haemorrhaging from my clam-flavoured pothole, his cervix cigar is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a gutted trout. He dropped a giant hardened fudge nugget on my tatas just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo.
I can't wait to lap the penis pudding from his cumtree. He cut a giant footlong fudge bullet on my top bollocks just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The unrelenting orgasms from his flesh gordon plowing my tuna canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. After having my gaping clam cavern fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my rusty sherif's badge. The hammering of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his one-eyed monster deep in my turd-herder. My cock holster was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The slamming makes me flow my clunge gunge all over his muffbuster. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding leaking from my brown mile and all over my clap flaps. With my clap flaps now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start shoving my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a colon cobra, I wondered? It was bliss having his greasy slimelight slid inside me again; stuffing my whispering eye with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my municipal cockwash flooding like it used to. If I don't tune the tuna to get my beige slime weeping from my tuna canal, his tenderloin truncheon is going to leave my panty hamster resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his clunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! The feeling of his baby gravy frothing down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. By now, my ruby cave was leaking like a slavering dog. When he removed his slut slayer from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his cumtree. With his Ocean's 11 Inches fucking deep into my split peach, the sensation of his muffbuster smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. My mouth was so full of one-eyed monster and creamy load, the steamin' semen was trickling down my chin and onto my chesticles. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love muscle probed deeper into my brown eye. The mixture of toilet twinkie and magician's wax in my cocoa channel created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. There was baby gravy haemorrhaging from his spunk-filled spam rocket and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Inserting an antique doorknob into my stench trench got me surging minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his ample cock made my minge monsoon haemorrhage like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my ladytown and a 15" spiked vibrator up my soft tight anus. I awoke the next morning with my meat purse still seeping. I thought it was over but his bald avenger had other ideas.
