by Amy Woods
If I don't play the clitar to get my shrimp sap draining from my smush mitten, his spam dagger is going to leave my piss flaps resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and cock custard in my black hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The feeling of his love piss leaking down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now, my front bum was sliming like a leaky tap. I awoke the next morning with my fuck gutter still weeping. I thought it was over but his bald avenger had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tenderloin truncheon stuffed deeper into my marmite motorway. After having my vibration station raided, he then proceeded to slam my tradesman's entrance. The raiding of my puckered brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his mutton dagger deep in my other vagina. When he removed his womb raider from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the toilet twinkie off his greasy slimelight. It was bliss having his sperminator probed inside me again; stuffing my smush mitten with a squash just didn't get my hatchet wound pouring like it used to. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his ramrod made my pussy batter leak like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard trickling from my cocoa channel and all over my fishy flaps. The unrelenting orgasms from his timed slimer thrusting my meat purse made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. My clam-flavoured pothole was trembling like a shitting dog. With my hairy goblet now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start sliding my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his all-beef thermometer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My cake hole was so full of purple beaver buster and Da Vinci load, the love mayonnaise was trickling down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. With his tallywacker fucking deep into my front bum, the sensation of his purple beaver buster smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. He blasted a giant footlong fudge bullet on my fiery biscuits just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my Quimcy, M.E. and a squash up my fart valve. Inserting a 9-iron into my wunder down under got me spritzing pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to gobble the cock snot from his huge penis. There was ectoplasm haemorrhaging from his love muscle and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more.
The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his master of ceremonies soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. He cut a giant Mr. Hanky on my superdroopers just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. My shame portal was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. My throat was so full of blind butler and gentleman's relish, the Da Vinci load was trickling down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. The mixture of sewer trout and gentleman's relish in my mud flap created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't fish for pearls to get my minge mucus flowing from my clunge pool, his spam dagger is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a manatee in yoga pants. The plowing of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his wrist-thick wand deep in my Mavis Fritter. When he removed his love muscle from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the toilet twinkie off his battering ram. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my gashtray got me splurging minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his purple beaver buster probed deeper into my ring piece. I can't wait to suck the Da Vinci load from his chorizo howitzer. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! The pounding makes me eject my shrimp sap all over his master of ceremonies. The unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper fucking my mound of love pudding made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. There was love mayonnaise slobbering from his giggle stick and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his wensleydale wand made my tuna tunnel tears froth like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. It was bliss having his skin flute stuffed inside me again; stuffing my south mouth with a squash just didn't get my meat purse spraying like it used to. After having my hot pocket pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my shit winker. With my velcro triangle now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start probing my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat foaming from my mud flap and all over my panty hamster. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my carp cavity and a gerbil up my brown eye. By now, my salmon slit was flowing like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. With his tenderloin truncheon pounding deep into my cod crater, the sensation of his spam dagger smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. The feeling of his man fat draining down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
My throat was so full of ample cock and gentleman's relish, the baby gravy was leaking down my chin and onto my love bubbles. Inserting a squash into my front bum got me spattering sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! By now, my meat purse was dripping like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his slut slayer rammed deeper into my fudge factory. I awoke the next morning with my fuck gutter still slobbering. I thought it was over but his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas. 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 hatchet wound and a number of chillies up my Oxo orifice. With my spam castanets now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The fucking of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his spam javelin deep in my brown mile. With his pink tractor beam pounding deep into my enchilada of love, the sensation of his disco stick smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and baby gravy in my balloon knot created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. When he removed his slut slayer from my other vagina, 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 washington monument. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss seeping from my black hole and all over my meaty hangers. The fucking makes me squirt my spaff all over his wrist-thick wand. I can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his kebeb skewer. It was bliss having his turgid terror truncheon stuffed inside me again; stuffing my mound of love pudding with an egg timer just didn't get my tuna canal spraying like it used to. He extruded a giant stink pickle on my cans just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. If I don't fluff the muff to get my beige slime fr
othing from my gammon alley, his wensleydale wand is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling badly battered road kill. My clam-flavoured pothole was trembling like jelly. There was baby gravy dripping from his skin flute and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his gristle missile made my fallopian fish stock trickle like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The feeling of his magician's wax haemorrhaging down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my vaginal bacon buffet pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my cocoa channel. The unrelenting orgasms from his vein cane raiding my shame portal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory.
After having my vibration station hammered, he then proceeded to thrust my vintage golf bag. There was man fat flowing from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. My cock holster was trembling like jelly. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his bald-headed yogurt slinger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He cut a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my mosquito bites just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. The feeling of his magician's wax oozing down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his thrill drill plunged inside me again; stuffing my split peach with a gerbil just didn't get my wizards sleeve flooding like it used to. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The thrusting makes me spray my fallopian fish stock all over his spunk-filled spam rocket. My cake hole was so full of greasy kebab skewer and ectoplasm, the baby gravy was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. The unrelenting orgasms from his giggle stick thrusting my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. With his thrill drill fucking deep into my stench trench, the sensation of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my flange custard foaming from my shame portal, his skeleton king is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling badly battered road kill. The plowing of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his slut slayer deep in my black hole. By now, my municipal cockwash was slobbering like a broken coffee maker. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his greasy slimelight made my beige slime slime like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. When he removed his pink tractor beam from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the colon cobra off his turgid terror truncheon. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skin flute slid deeper into my tradesman's entrance. The mixture of colon cobra and love piss in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my slime hole still foaming. I thought it was over but his Nelson's Column had other ideas. I can't wait to suck the steamin' semen from his devil's bagpipe. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my salmon slit and an egg timer up my shit winker. With my hairy goblet now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start probing my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard frothing from my rusty bullet hole and all over my fishy flaps. Inserting a lightbulb into my whispering eye got me spouting clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit.
My throat was so full of spam dagger and steamin' semen, the ectoplasm was trickling down my chin and onto my superdroopers. The feeling of his magician's wax oozing down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He extruded a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my chest puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my cod crater and an antique doorknob up my black hole. It was bliss having his veiny quim prod probed inside me again; stuffing my stench trench with a lightbulb just didn't get my south mouth splurging like it used to. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my south mouth still dripping. I thought it was over but his skeleton king had other ideas. Inserting an antique doorknob into my front bum got me squirting shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. There was ectoplasm flowing from his sperminator and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his batter blaster hammering my fuck gutter made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. The mixture of toilet twinkie and baby gravy in my poop chute created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The hammering of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his brie baton deep in my other vagina. If I don't fluff the muff to get my fallopian fish stock haemorrhaging from my cod cave, his bald avenger is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a ripped out fireplace. With his ample cock plowing deep into my clam-flavoured pothole, the sensation of his love lollipop smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The raiding makes me squirt my fallopian fish stock all over his flesh gordon. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his jade rod made my sex wee leak like a slug in a salt mine. After having my mound of love pudding fucked, he then proceeded to plow my brown eye. When he removed his flesh gordon from my ring piece, 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 throbbing quim dagger. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jade rod slid deeper into my puckered brown eye. By now, my tuna canal was flowing like a slavering dog. I can't wait to chow down on the magician's wax from his Ocean's 11 Inches. With my velcro triangle now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start probing my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a butt nugget, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish foaming from my turd-herder and all over my flappy meal. My wizards sleeve was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his stilton spear soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
With my flappy meal now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start sliding my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a butt nugget, I wondered? He blasted a giant footlong fudge bullet on my fiery biscuits just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. My carp cavity was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The unrelenting orgasms from his throbbing quim dagger plowing my sperm socket made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. The mixture of colon cobra and magician's wax in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. I can't wait to consume the man fat from his giggle stick. With his tenderloin truncheon hammering deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his womb raider smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his tenderloin truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The pounding of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his skeleton king deep in my rusty sherif's badge. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. 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 cock holster and a 9-iron up my brown eye. It was bliss having his sperminator plunged inside me again; stuffing my chamber of squelch with a lightbulb just didn't get my furry cup squirting like it used to. The feeling of his steamin' semen trickling down my throat go
t my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. By now, my tampon tunnel was seeping like a slug in a salt mine. The hammering makes me squirt my fallopian fish stock all over his huge penis. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his devil's bagpipe shoved deeper into my brown eye. After having my oyster ditch pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my fart valve. When he removed his timed slimer 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 chow down on the footlong fudge bullet off his veiny quim prod. There was penis pudding weeping from his purple beaver buster and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his muffbuster made my flange custard drain like a George Foreman grill. Inserting an antique doorknob into my front bum got me ejecting pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my pink velvet sausage wallet still weeping. I thought it was over but his chubstep had other ideas. If I don't tune the tuna to get my spaff oozing from my moose knuckle, his cream reaper is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish leaking from my fart valve and all over my beef curtains.
