by Amy Woods
There was ectoplasm seeping from his cumtree and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The slamming of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my cocoa channel. The unrelenting orgasms from his flesh gordon fucking my gashtray made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his muffbuster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his tallywacker from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the footlong fudge bullet off his one-eyed milkman. Inserting a squash into my vibrator crater got me surging minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel shit. With my vertical garden now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start sliding my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? If I don't strum the banjo to get my clunge gunge frothing from my ladytown, his greasy slimelight is going to leave my vertical smile resembling the south end of a badger going north. The fucking makes me flow my clunge gunge all over his ample cock. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my pink velvet sausage wallet and my fist up my rusty sherif's badge. The feeling of his baby gravy weeping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my clunge pool raided, he then proceeded to raid my Oxo orifice. By now, my fuck trench was haemorrhaging like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. My south mouth was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. With his brie baton slamming deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his vein cane smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tenderloin truncheon probed deeper into my marmite motorway. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his cunt plunger made my clunge gunge dribble like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. My mouth was so full of batter blaster and love piss, the love mayonnaise was leaching down my chin and onto my tatas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load leaking from my poo pipe and all over my panty hamster. He eased out a giant toilet twinkie on my chesticles just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I awoke the next morning with my moose knuckle still leaching. I thought it was over but his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas. I can't wait to suck the love mayonnaise from his skeleton king. The mixture of toilet twinkie and love mayonnaise in my cocoa channel created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of.
Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my depravity cavity got me spattering vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus pounding deep into my gaping clam cavern, the sensation of his one-eyed monster smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. I can't wait to gobble the Da Vinci load from his turgid terror truncheon. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my tuna tunnel tears haemorrhage like a slug in a salt mine. With my furburger now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start sliding my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? If I don't finger blast to get my spaff sliming from my sperm socket, his chorizo howitzer is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a rabid baboon's arse. The feeling of his ectoplasm dribbling down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise flowing from my Mavis Fritter and all over my hairy goblet. 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 kipper dinghy and a number of chillies up my chocolate starfish. I awoke the next morning with my spunk dungeon still oozing. I thought it was over but his cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. When he removed his wrist-thick wand from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the colon cobra off his cream reaper. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his gristle missile rammed deeper into my Oxo orifice. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword pounding my tampon tunnel made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. There was magician's wax dribbling from his devil's bagpipe and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. By now, my fuck gutter was flowing like a jizz waterfall. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and penis pudding in my poop chute created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The slamming makes me pour my shrimp sap all over his muffbuster. After having my clunge pool hammered, he then proceeded to fuck my Oxo orifice. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his one-eyed monster probed inside me again; stuffing my cod cave with a number of chillies just didn't get my pink velvet sausage wallet splurging like it used to. My cake hole was so full of love muscle and baby gravy, the love mayonnaise was dribbling down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He cut a giant Mr. Hanky on my boobage just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My cod cave was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.
When he removed his spam javelin from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the sewer trout off his battering ram. With his piss pipe plowing deep into my clam-flavoured pothole, the sensation of his brie baton smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. The feeling of his magician's wax oozing down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The thrusting makes me flow my shrimp sap all over his spam javelin. My gashtray was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his piss pipe rammed deeper into my mud flap. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my vaginal bacon buffet got me spritzing clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of sewer trout and man fat in my vintage golf bag created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With my hairy goblet now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start plunging my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? My cake hole was so full of all-beef thermometer and magician's wax, the steamin' semen was seeping down my chin and onto my breasticles. There was man fat frothing from his ample cock and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load trickling from my mud flap and all over my furburger. The hammering of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his Ocean's 11 Inches deep in my brown mile. He crowned a giant butt nugget on my chest puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. After having my depravity cavity slammed, he then proceeded to plow my rusty bullet hole. If I don't buff the muff to get my pussy batter leaching from my smush mitten, his jebend is going to leave my furburger resembling a motorway pileup. 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 cock holster and a squash up my Mavis Fritter. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cann
on soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. By now, my oyster ditch was dribbling like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. I awoke the next morning with my chlamydia canal still leaching. I thought it was over but his ample cock had other ideas. I can't wait to lap the love piss from his spam javelin. It was bliss having his huge penis stuffed inside me again; stuffing my gammon alley with a barbie doll just didn't get my enchilada of love spouting like it used to. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his greasy kebab skewer made my pussy batter ooze like a rabid dog.
He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his thrill drill hammering my cod crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his love muscle made my pussy batter seep like a broken fridge freezer. I awoke the next morning with my fuck trench still slobbering. I thought it was over but his piss pipe had other ideas. With his jade rod hammering deep into my whispering eye, the sensation of his tallywacker smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my tampon tunnel and a 9-iron up my puckered brown eye. Inserting a barbie doll into my chamber of squelch got me flowing clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. There was cock custard weeping from his balony pony and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The mixture of colon cobra and creamy load in my black hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his piss pipe probed deeper into my cocoa channel. When he removed his love muscle from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the corn-eyed butt snake off his greasy slimelight. With my spam castanets now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start shoving my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? He extruded a giant colon cobra on my mosquito bites just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. My throat was so full of one-eyed monster and steamin' semen, the Da Vinci load was slobbering down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. After having my one slice toaster raided, he then proceeded to plow my mud flap. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher probed inside me again; stuffing my furry cup with a barbie doll just didn't get my gashtray surging like it used to. If I don't buff the muff to get my sex wee dripping from my ruby cave, his long-dong silver is going to leave my spam castanets resembling an over inflated dinghy. I can't wait to lap the steamin' semen from his one-eyed monster. By now, my bearded haddock pasty was flowing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The plowing of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his huge penis deep in my fudge factory. The thrusting makes me surge my minge monsoon all over his throbbing quim dagger. The feeling of his ectoplasm foaming down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! My cod crater was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise foaming from my fart valve and all over my meaty hangers.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish sliming from my soft tight anus and all over my piss flaps. By now, my furry cup was leaking like a jizz waterfall. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my pink velvet sausage wallet and a 15" spiked vibrator up my Oxo orifice. The feeling of his Da Vinci load dripping down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My mouth was so full of ample cock and gentleman's relish, the man fat was seeping down my chin and onto my chest puppies. The raiding of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his throbbing quim dagger deep in my fudge factory. It was bliss having his skin flute probed inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with an antique doorknob just didn't get my cum dumpster pouring like it used to. I can't wait to lap the steamin' semen from his ramrod. After having my birth cannon hammered, he then proceeded to raid my tradesman's entrance. The pounding makes me eject my pussy batter all over his devil's bagpipe. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his pink tractor beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon made my minge mucus ooze like a slavering dog. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. My enchilada of love was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The unrelenting orgasms from his vein cane pounding my fuck gutter made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my ladytown got me spattering minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my flange custard dripping from my ladytown, his spam dagger is going to leave my furburger resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. He launched a giant stink pickle on my droopies just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With my beef curtains now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start shoving my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and cock snot in my old dirt road created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my fuck trench still sliming. I thought it was over but his giggle stick had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his balony pony stuffed deeper into my black hole. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! With his Nelson's Column raiding deep into my south mouth, the sensation of his washington monument smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. When he removed his one-eyed monster from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the butt nugget off his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon.
Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his love lollipop made my vertical moisture weep like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load haemorrhaging from my black hole and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my tuna tunnel tears oozing from my hot pocket, his skin flute is going to leave my vertical smile resembling Pete Burns' lips. The hammering makes me flood my fallopian fish stock all over his huge penis. When he removed his love muscle from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the Mr. Hanky off his cheese-crusted cock. By now, my hot pocket was leaching like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his battering ram soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He crowned a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my love bubbles just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. With my spam castanets now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start sliding my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a stink pickle, I wondered? I can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his gristle missile. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his chubstep plunged deeper into my balloon knot. My cake hole was so full of cervix cigar and creamy load, the steamin' semen was frothing down my chin and onto my chesticles. The feeling of his ectoplasm seeping down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a
whip. There was cock snot flowing from his womb raider and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. With his bald avenger plowing deep into my shame portal, the sensation of his washington monument smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. 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 barbie doll in my oyster ditch and an egg timer up my turd cutter. I awoke the next morning with my birth cannon still foaming. I thought it was over but his slut slayer had other ideas. The thrusting of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his sperminator deep in my soft tight anus. My penis pothole was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. It was bliss having his blind butler rammed inside me again; stuffing my salmon slit with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet flowing like it used to. Inserting an antique doorknob into my furry cup got me squirting spaff faster than snot off a whip. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! After having my vibrator crater slammed, he then proceeded to fuck my old dirt road. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and ectoplasm in my brown eye created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week.
