by Amy Woods
After having my sperm socket plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my marmite motorway. By now, my frilling pink golf bag was weeping like a jizz waterfall. There was steamin' semen leaching from his jebend and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his turgid terror truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He copped a giant toilet twinkie on my boobage just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The raiding of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his master of ceremonies deep in my Mavis Fritter. The raiding makes me splurge my tuna tunnel tears all over his huge penis. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his giggle stick stuffed deeper into my puckered brown eye. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my south mouth and a squash up my old dirt road. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my vibration station still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his clunger had other ideas. With my vertical garden now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start shoving my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger pounding my herring hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and Da Vinci load in my puckered brown eye created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With his purple beaver buster fucking deep into my clam-flavoured pothole, the sensation of his greasy kebab skewer smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Inserting a barbie doll into my cock holster got me flooding tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my shrimp sap dripping from my salmon slit, his skin flute is going to leave my clap flaps resembling Pete Burns' lips. It was bliss having his cunt plunger rammed inside me again; stuffing my tuna canal with a barbie doll just didn't get my enchilada of love ejecting like it used to. When he removed his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the toilet twinkie off his skin flute. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm trickling from my mud flap and all over my lunchmeat. The feeling of his ectoplasm seeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My wizards sleeve was trembling like jelly. My mouth was so full of battering ram and steamin' semen, the man fat was dripping down my chin and onto my chesticles. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his long-dong silver made my fallopian fish stock seep like a slug in a salt mine.
By now, my shame portal was foaming like a slug in a salt mine. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his spam javelin soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his piss pipe pounding my chamber of squelch made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his disco stick made my clunge gunge flow like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. With my furburger now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start probing my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? My enchilada of love was trembling like a shitting dog. I awoke the next morning with my split peach still leaking. I thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas. The mixture of toilet twinkie and love piss in my brown mile created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. If I don't flick the bean to get my spaff weeping from my calamari cockring, his all-beef thermometer is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a horse's collar. The thrusting of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his balony pony deep in my balloon knot. There was love piss sliming from his balony pony and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my cum dumpster and a 15" spiked vibrator up my tradesman's entrance. It was bliss having his clunger stuffed inside me again; stuffing my clunge pool with a number of chillies just didn't get my hot pocket spritzing like it used to. I can't wait to chow down on the creamy load from his tallywacker. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat leaking from my shit winker and all over my vertical garden. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! Inserting a barbie doll into my salmon slit got me ejecting tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. He arced a giant toilet twinkie on my droopies just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With his purple beaver buster plowing deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his cheese-crusted cock smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. The feeling of his cock custard dribbling down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The pounding makes me spritz my spaff all over his ramrod. When he removed his skin flute 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 gobble the toilet twinkie off his love lollipop. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his throbbing quim dagger slid deeper into my Oxo orifice. My cake hole was so full of tenderloin truncheon and cock custard, the ectoplasm was dripping down my chin and onto my mosquito bites.
When he removed his wensleydale wand 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 chow down on the stink pickle off his love muscle. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his throbbing quim dagger made my pussy batter weep like a broken fridge freezer. The mixture of butt nugget and gentleman's relish in my marmite motorway created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The feeling of his gentleman's relish dripping down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My clam-flavoured pothole was trembling like a rat on acid. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! Inserting an egg timer into my furry cup got me pouring minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard seeping from my marmite motorway and all over my panty hamster. If I don't finger blast to get my minge mucus leaching from my hot pocket, his blue-veined custard chucker is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a badly wrapped kebab. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spunk-filled spam rocket plunged deeper into my soft tight anus. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. By now, my fuck trench was oozing like a slug in a salt mine. The slamming makes me flow my tuna tunnel tears all over his throbbing quim dagger. It was bliss having his cumtree shoved inside me again; stuffing my smush mitten with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my fuck gutter spritzing like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my fuck gutter still frothing. I thought it was over but his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his mutton dagger pounding my salmon slit made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. After having my pink velvet sausage wallet plowed, he then proceeded to slam my poop chute. The raiding of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his cunt plunger deep in my marmite motorway. He pitched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my mosquito bites just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With his long-dong silver pounding deep into my shame portal, the sensation of
his bald-headed yogurt slinger smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his wrist-thick wand soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my vertical garden now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start ramming my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a sewer trout, I wondered? There was magician's wax trickling from his spunk-filled spam rocket and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. My mouth was so full of clunger and creamy load, the ectoplasm was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. I can't wait to consume the magician's wax from his spunk-filled spam rocket.
Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my clunge pool and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my brown eye. My chlamydia canal was trembling like jelly. I awoke the next morning with my vibrator crater still frothing. I thought it was over but his giggle stick had other ideas. With his timed slimer raiding deep into my spunk dungeon, the sensation of his battering ram smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his wrist-thick wand made my shrimp sap seep like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Inserting my fist into my penis pothole got me ejecting clunge gunge faster than snot off a whip. My throat was so full of one-eyed monster and magician's wax, the love piss was dribbling down my chin and onto my top bollocks. I can't wait to devour the love mayonnaise from his meaty member. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and Da Vinci load in my fudge factory created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The feeling of his love piss draining down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise haemorrhaging from my other vagina and all over my vertical garden. When he removed his vein cane from my black hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the stink pickle off his balony pony. After having my vibrator crater raided, he then proceeded to plow my other vagina. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my minge monsoon foaming from my split peach, his jebend is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a stamped bat. There was steamin' semen frothing from his one-eyed milkman and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The thrusting of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his jebend deep in my old dirt road. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his clunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his giggle stick rammed inside me again; stuffing my kipper dinghy with a lightbulb just didn't get my split peach spattering like it used to. The fucking makes me gush my sex wee all over his bald avenger. He pitched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my boobage just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. With my lunchmeat now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start sliding my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a butt nugget, I wondered? Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! By now, my clam-flavoured pothole was slobbering like a broken fridge freezer. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his kebeb skewer rammed deeper into my soft tight anus.
He cut a giant stink pickle on my boobage just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my gaping clam cavern and a 9-iron up my turd-herder. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his mutton dagger made my minge monsoon haemorrhage like a hungry pig at a trough. With my piss flaps now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start sliding my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? I can't wait to consume the ectoplasm from his meaty member. By now, my frilling pink golf bag was oozing like a hungry pig at a trough. My Quimcy, M.E. was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. With his muffbuster hammering deep into my split peach, the sensation of his vein cane smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. I awoke the next morning with my salmon slit still dripping. I thought it was over but his jade rod had other ideas. There was love piss dripping from his greasy kebab skewer and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! After having my cock holster plowed, he then proceeded to plow my fart valve. Inserting my fist into my ruby cave got me spraying shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. The thrusting makes me spray my spaff all over his spam javelin. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm flowing from my ring piece and all over my meaty hangers. The feeling of his creamy load slobbering down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his purple beaver buster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his cervix cigar plowing my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. It was bliss having his gristle missile plunged inside me again; stuffing my smush mitten with a number of chillies just didn't get my smush mitten spritzing like it used to. The mixture of stink pickle and gentleman's relish in my old dirt road created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The slamming of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his turgid terror truncheon deep in my rusty sherif's badge. My mouth was so full of cream reaper and love piss, the Da Vinci load was leaching down my chin and onto my chest puppies. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my tuna tunnel tears flowing from my birth cannon, his wrist-thick wand is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a manatee in yoga pants. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blue-veined custard chucker stuffed deeper into my cocoa channel.
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 enchilada of love and an egg timer up my poo pipe. I can't wait to consume the gentleman's relish from his huge penis. I awoke the next morning with my herring hole still dripping. I thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my hatchet wound got me gushing pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was gentleman's relish oozing from his skin flute and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. My mouth was so full of spam javelin and cock custard, the magician's wax was dripping down my chin and onto my boobage. The feeling of his steamin' semen leaking down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his skin flute soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his skin flute slamming deep into my ground zero grotto, the sensation of his womb raider smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my fallopian fish stock draining from my ladytown, his cream reaper is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling badly battered road kill. My spunk dungeon was trembling like a shitting dog. By now, my vibrator crater was frothing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! With my spam castanets now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start stuffing my shit winker. Is now the time to tell h
im I really need to cop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? He rolled a giant toilet twinkie on my superdroopers just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. When he removed his vein cane from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the footlong fudge bullet off his batter blaster. It was bliss having his battering ram stuffed inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia canal with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my Quimcy, M.E. flowing like it used to. The mixture of butt nugget and man fat in my cocoa channel created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his thrill drill made my fallopian fish stock weep like a slug in a salt mine. The unrelenting orgasms from his Ocean's 11 Inches thrusting my furry cup made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love muscle shoved deeper into my soft tight anus. The pounding of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his spam javelin deep in my other vagina. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax frothing from my tradesman's entrance and all over my beef curtains. The pounding makes me gush my fallopian fish stock all over his veiny quim prod.
