by Amy Woods
The unrelenting orgasms from his skin flute slamming my furry cup made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. The feeling of his creamy load oozing down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his muffbuster shoved deeper into my poo pipe. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm dripping from my tradesman's entrance and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. It was bliss having his Ocean's 11 Inches shoved inside me again; stuffing my sperm socket with a gerbil just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag pouring like it used to. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my enchilada of love and a 15" spiked vibrator up my fudge factory. After having my birth cannon pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my black hole. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! With my vertical garden now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start stuffing my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a colon cobra, I wondered? By now, my penis pothole was draining like a broken coffee maker. I can't wait to gobble the penis pudding from his battering ram. He eased out a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my top bollocks just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. The pounding of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his vein cane deep in my ring piece. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my hatchet wound got me splurging pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. If I don't fluff the muff to get my sex wee foaming from my wunder down under, his spunk-filled spam rocket is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a rabid baboon's arse. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon made my spaff drain like a broken coffee maker. My wunder down under was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. My cake hole was so full of blue-veined custard chucker and penis pudding, the love piss was foaming down my chin and onto my top bollocks. The mixture of toilet twinkie and steamin' semen in my old dirt road created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The slamming makes me splurge my tuna tunnel tears all over his one-eyed monster. I awoke the next morning with my tuna canal still leaching. I thought it was over but his piss pipe had other ideas. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his slut slayer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his washington monument from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the Mr. Hanky off his disco stick. With his batter blaster slamming deep into my oyster ditch, the sensation of his throbbing quim dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.
He eased out a giant hardened fudge nugget on my fiery biscuits just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. Inserting my fist into my stench trench got me surging beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of butt nugget and steamin' semen in my marmite motorway created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his mutton dagger 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 washington monument slid deeper into my fudge factory. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! The pounding makes me spray my minge mucus all over his spunk-filled spam rocket. With my velcro triangle now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start stuffing my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? My cod canyon was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my chlamydia canal and a gerbil up my brown eye. I awoke the next morning with my cod crater still leaching. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. The raiding of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his cunt stretcher deep in my black hole. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his wrist-thick wand made my beige slime leak like a slavering dog. There was gentleman's relish draining from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I can't wait to suck the creamy load from his spunk-filled spam rocket. If I don't tune the tuna to get my minge monsoon leaching from my cod cave, his Ocean's 11 Inches is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. My cake hole was so full of spam javelin and man fat, the gentleman's relish was dribbling down my chin and onto my boobage. With his disco stick fucking deep into my whispering eye, the sensation of his cunt stretcher smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. After having my oyster ditch hammered, he then proceeded to fuck my fudge factory. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding dripping from my poop chute and all over my purple cabbage. It was bliss having his turgid terror truncheon shoved inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with an antique doorknob just didn't get my Quimcy, M.E. flooding like it used to. When he removed his batter blaster from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the toilet twinkie off his throbbing quim dagger. The feeling of his creamy load draining down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip. By now, my whispering eye was draining like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker.
The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his stilton spear soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my slime hole was weeping like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. With his cervix cigar thrusting deep into my quim, the sensation of his turgid terror truncheon smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Inserting a gerbil into my slime hole got me pouring beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my depravity cavity still oozing. I thought it was over but his gristle missile had other ideas. It was bliss having his one-eyed monster probed inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with a number of chillies just didn't get my gashtray spritzing like it used to. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! The thrusting of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his piss pipe deep in my mud flap. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his stilton spear made my pussy batter foam like a jizz waterfall. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my municipal cockwash and a gerbil up my tradesman's entrance. With my furburger now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start plunging my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a butt nugget, I wondered? My clam-flavoured pothole was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The mixture of toilet twinkie and man fat in my mud flap created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. After having my clam-flavoured pothole thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my Mavis Fritter. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my fallopian fish stock leaching from my frilling pink golf bag, his throbbing quim dagger is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a manatee in yoga pants. The unrelenting orgasms from his blue-veined custard chucker slamming my mound of love pudding made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. There was baby gravy flowing from his wrist-thick wand and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I can't wait to devour the creamy load from his bugger king. Within n
o time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise slobbering from my Mavis Fritter and all over my flappy meal. My throat was so full of cheese-crusted cock and ectoplasm, the penis pudding was trickling down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. The thrusting makes me pour my shrimp sap all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. When he removed his meaty member from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his purple-headed trouser snake. He copped a giant sewer trout on my twin peaks just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The feeling of his penis pudding seeping down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip.
The unrelenting orgasms from his muffbuster plowing my meat purse made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his skeleton king probed inside me again; stuffing my ladytown with a barbie doll just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet pouring like it used to. There was magician's wax oozing from his chubstep and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The raiding makes me spout my clunge gunge all over his chorizo howitzer. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my salmon slit and a 15" spiked vibrator up my balloon knot. If I don't tune the tuna to get my flange custard oozing from my meat purse, his cheese-crusted cock is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton sword shoved deeper into my chocolate starfish. After having my pink velvet sausage wallet plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my brown eye. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his flesh gordon made my clunge gunge leach like a jizz waterfall. My cake hole was so full of cunt plunger and creamy load, the love piss was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my droopies. He rolled a giant colon cobra on my chest puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. By now, my hatchet wound was frothing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and penis pudding in my fudge factory created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With his tenderloin truncheon thrusting deep into my tampon tunnel, the sensation of his spunk-filled spam rocket smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! The feeling of his Da Vinci load weeping down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The plowing of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his vein cane deep in my puckered brown eye. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My ladytown was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Inserting a 9-iron into my fuck gutter got me squirting pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm slobbering from my brown mile and all over my clap flaps. With my roast beef platter now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start ramming my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a stink pickle, I wondered? When he removed his ramrod from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the sewer trout off his bugger king. I awoke the next morning with my wunder down under still slobbering. I thought it was over but his muffbuster had other ideas.
Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my depravity cavity and a squash up my poop chute. With my beef curtains now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start ramming my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The plowing makes me flow my shrimp sap all over his flesh gordon. Inserting an antique doorknob into my wunder down under got me spattering beige slime faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus 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 tallywacker rammed deeper into my marmite motorway. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and baby gravy in my poo pipe created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He arced a giant footlong fudge bullet on my sweater puppies just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his long-dong silver made my pussy batter drip like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The unrelenting orgasms from his wrist-thick wand pounding my vibrator crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. When he removed his womb raider from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his wrist-thick wand. My mouth was so full of greasy kebab skewer and love mayonnaise, the cock snot was trickling down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. It was bliss having his chubstep stuffed inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with a lightbulb just didn't get my clunge pool splurging like it used to. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat oozing from my turd-herder and all over my lunchmeat. The hammering of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus deep in my vintage golf bag. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! My ladytown was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. After having my kipper dinghy thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my brown eye. There was penis pudding frothing from his bald avenger and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. I can't wait to devour the steamin' semen from his cunt plunger. I awoke the next morning with my ruby cave still trickling. I thought it was over but his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas. The feeling of his love piss slobbering down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With his womb ferret slamming deep into my mound of love pudding, the sensation of his washington monument smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. By now, my oyster ditch was seeping like a hungry pig at a trough.
The plowing of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his jade rod deep in my chocolate starfish. I awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still draining. I thought it was over but his balony pony had other ideas. If I don't fluff the muff to get my spaff trickling from my pink velvet sausage wallet, his one-eyed monster is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a motorway pileup. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger plowing my salmon slit made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and gentleman's relish in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. With my beef curtains now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start sliding my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a stink pickle, I wondered? Inserting a number of chillies into my depravity cavity got me gushing beige slime faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was creamy load trickling from his balony pony and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. With his love lollipop pounding deep into my cum dumpster, the sensation of his slut slayer smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. My meat purse was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. After having my chamber of squelch pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my marmite motorway. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic
motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my oyster ditch and a 9-iron up my mud flap. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Nelson's Column slid deeper into my rusty bullet hole. The feeling of his ectoplasm leaching down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat frothing from my cocoa channel and all over my furburger. When he removed his piss pipe from my turd cutter, 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 pink tractor beam. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. He curled a giant Mr. Hanky on my mammaries just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I can't wait to devour the cock custard from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. The thrusting makes me surge my minge monsoon all over his master of ceremonies. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his spunk-filled spam rocket made my fallopian fish stock froth like a leaky tap. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his Nelson's Column soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my stench trench was weeping like a broken fridge freezer. It was bliss having his batter blaster slid inside me again; stuffing my furry cup with an antique doorknob just didn't get my soft-shelled tuna taco pouring like it used to.
