by Amy Woods
It was bliss having his tallywacker probed inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with a number of chillies just didn't get my penis pothole squirting like it used to. With his vein cane raiding deep into my hatchet wound, the sensation of his spunk-filled spam rocket smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. My mouth was so full of blue-veined custard chucker and steamin' semen, the love mayonnaise was frothing down my chin and onto my twin peaks. Inserting a barbie doll into my hot pocket got me spraying beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of toilet twinkie and Da Vinci load in my fart valve created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The hammering of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon deep in my black hole. By now, my cod crater was frothing like a jizz waterfall. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his gristle missile rammed deeper into my other vagina. I can't wait to lap the ectoplasm from his battering ram. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his womb raider soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. With my purple cabbage now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start sliding my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my carp cavity still dribbling. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard trickling from my Oxo orifice and all over my lunchmeat. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his one-eyed monster made my beige slime dribble like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. My chamber of squelch was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. He curled a giant hardened fudge nugget on my cans just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. There was creamy load weeping from his stilton sword and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The plowing makes me pour my beige slime all over his skeleton king. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my depravity cavity and a 15" spiked vibrator up my soft tight anus. The feeling of his baby gravy flowing down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my shrimp sap trickling from my vibrator crater, his chorizo howitzer is going to leave my flappy meal resembling that bathroom door in The Shining. When he removed his battering ram from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the Mr. Hanky off his washington monument. The unrelenting orgasms from his bugger king slamming my gammon alley made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop.
By now, my meat purse was slobbering like a hungry pig at a trough. My ground zero grotto was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. He eased out a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my fiery biscuits just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his purple beaver buster made my fallopian fish stock slime like a George Foreman grill. When he removed his thrill drill from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the Mr. Hanky off his love lollipop. The feeling of his Da Vinci load oozing down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and ectoplasm in my mud flap created the delicious sphincter sauce 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 slid deeper into my vintage golf bag. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my spaff slobbering from my hatchet wound, his muffbuster is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my tampon tunnel and a lightbulb up my shit winker. It was bliss having his devil's bagpipe probed inside me again; stuffing my cod cave with an antique doorknob just didn't get my penis pothole ejecting like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load leaking from my brown mile and all over my meaty hangers. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his skeleton king soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! There was magician's wax draining from his one-eyed monster and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. With my vertical garden now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start sliding my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a colon cobra, I wondered? The pounding makes me spout my beige slime all over his one-eyed milkman. I can't wait to chow down on the cock snot from his one-eyed milkman. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. With his devil's bagpipe slamming deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his cervix cigar smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Inserting a number of chillies into my tuna canal got me splurging sex wee faster than snot off a whip. The thrusting of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his mutton dagger deep in my other vagina. After having my gashtray slammed, he then proceeded to pound my soft tight anus. My mouth was so full of mutton dagger and penis pudding, the creamy load was dripping down my chin and onto my love bubbles. The unrelenting orgasms from his giggle stick thrusting my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco.
With my piss flaps now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start sliding my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? The fucking of my puckered brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his jebend deep in my rusty bullet hole. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! When he removed his throbbing quim dagger from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the butt nugget off his greasy kebab skewer. With his disco stick fucking deep into my clunge pool, the sensation of his ample cock smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. If I don't strum the banjo to get my vertical moisture slobbering from my vibrator crater, his pink tractor beam is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. The feeling of his ectoplasm oozing down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He launched a giant colon cobra on my love bubbles just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The plowing makes me spout my fallopian fish stock all over his chubstep. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his gristle missile probed deeper into my poop chute. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his cheese-crusted cock made my tuna tunnel tears froth like a leaky tap. The mixture of butt nugget and love piss in my Oxo orifice created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. There was steamin' semen leaking from his stilton spear and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his skin flute soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his ample cock. The unrelenting orgasms from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus plowing my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. By now, my tampon tunnel was flowing like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. My furry cup was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty steamin' semen flowing from my black hole and all over my piss flaps. It was bliss having his purple-headed trouser snake rammed inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with an antique doorknob just didn't get my penis pothole splurging like it used to. Inserting a lightbulb into my sperm socket got me flooding minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel shit. After having my depravity cavity pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my Mavis Fritter. 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 number of chillies in my municipal cockwash and a lightbulb up my shit winker. My cake hole was so full of mutton dagger and cock snot, the love mayonnaise was leaching down my chin and onto my breasticles.
The unrelenting orgasms from his ramrod hammering my mound of love pudding made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. I can't wait to lap the Da Vinci load from his skin flute. The feeling of his love piss weeping down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. After having my soft-shelled tuna taco plowed, he then proceeded to hammer my Mavis Fritter. He dropped a giant sewer trout on my fiery biscuits just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. It was bliss having his piss pipe slid inside me again; stuffing my depravity cavity with a squash just didn't get my sperm socket splurging like it used to. There was love piss seeping from his Nelson's Column and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The hammering makes me spray my vertical moisture all over his purple-headed trouser snake. By now, my chlamydia canal was flowing like a broken coffee maker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his one-eyed milkman shoved deeper into my black hole. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! My cake hole was so full of bugger king and love piss, the Da Vinci load was flowing down my chin and onto my tatas. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his long-dong silver soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my cod cave still leaking. I thought it was over but his spam dagger had other ideas. Inserting a lightbulb into my pink velvet sausage wallet got me spouting spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his bald avenger 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 devour the Mr. Hanky off his chubstep. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my sex wee leaching from my bearded haddock pasty, his clunger is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my birth cannon and a 15" spiked vibrator up my fart valve. The raiding of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his one-eyed monster deep in my poo pipe. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load sliming from my poop chute and all over my vertical smile. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and creamy load in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. My municipal cockwash was trembling like a shitting dog. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my beige slime flow like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. With his throbbing quim dagger hammering deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his cumtree smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver.
After having my gammon alley fucked, he then proceeded to plow my soft tight anus. By now, my cod crater was flowing like a hungry pig at a trough. There was Da Vinci load weeping from his chorizo howitzer and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. He eased out a giant toilet twinkie on my chest puppies just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. With my clap flaps now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start ramming my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a butt nugget, I wondered? The slamming makes me flood my sex wee all over his brie baton. My sperm socket was trembling like a shitting dog. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! The feeling of his penis pudding seeping down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his Ocean's 11 Inches shoved inside me again; stuffing my depravity cavity with my fist just didn't get my carp cavity flooding like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding sliming from my soft tight anus and all over my meaty hangers. When he removed his cunt stretcher from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the sewer trout off his piss pipe. Inserting a number of chillies into my bearded haddock pasty got me surging pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to devour the cock snot from his flesh gordon. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his chorizo howitzer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The fucking of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his cheese-crusted cock deep in my brown mile. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my pussy batter trickling from my cod canyon, his cream reaper is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a manatee in yoga pants. I awoke the next morning with my tuna canal still seeping. I thought it was over but his kebeb skewer had other ideas. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my soft-shelled tuna taco and a squash up my brown eye. The mixture of stink pickle and love piss in my cocoa channel created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his turgid terror truncheon slamming my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. My cake hole was so full of jebend and magician's wax, the cock custard was frothing down my chin and onto my love bubbles. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his stilton spear made my beige slime slobber like a broken fridge freezer. With his Nelson's Column hammering deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his Ocean's 11 Inches smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery.
By now, my clam-flavoured pothole was haemorrhaging like a leaky tap. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise draining from my puckered brown eye and all over my spam castanets. The mixture of stink pickle and penis pudding in my marmite motorway created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start sliding my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick thrusting my slime hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. The feeling of his love mayonnaise weeping down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his vein cane probed inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia canal with a barbie doll just didn't get my slime hole flowing like it used to. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his giggle stick made my minge monsoon drain like a jizz waterfall. My split peach was trembling like a rat on acid. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. When he removed his chubstep from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his stilton sword. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! After having my gaping clam cavern pounded, he then proceeded to raid my brown eye. I awoke the next morning with my slime hole still flowing. I thought it was over bu
t his jebend had other ideas. The hammering makes me splurge my minge monsoon all over his sperminator. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his bald-headed yogurt slinger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't tune the tuna to get my sex wee leaching from my tuna canal, his skin flute is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling Terry Waite's allotment. Inserting my fist into my cum dumpster got me gushing fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. He pinched off a giant butt nugget on my rack just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my frilling pink golf bag and an antique doorknob up my brown eye. The plowing of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his vein cane deep in my rusty bullet hole. There was ectoplasm dripping from his stilton spear and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I can't wait to chow down on the creamy load from his jade rod. With his womb raider fucking deep into my spunk dungeon, the sensation of his disco stick smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. My throat was so full of skeleton king and gentleman's relish, the Da Vinci load was leaking down my chin and onto my chesticles.
