by Amy Woods
If I don't fish for pearls to get my minge mucus oozing from my oyster ditch, his one-eyed milkman is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a motorway pileup. The pounding of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his love lollipop deep in my cocoa channel. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my pink velvet sausage wallet and an antique doorknob up my marmite motorway. The feeling of his love mayonnaise slobbering down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his purple-headed trouser snake stuffed deeper into my chocolate starfish. With his tallywacker fucking deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet, the sensation of his skeleton king smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. I awoke the next morning with my cod canyon still dribbling. I thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas. With my furburger now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start stuffing my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Inserting a gerbil into my herring hole got me ejecting pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait to gobble the Da Vinci load from his tallywacker. The fucking makes me squirt my beige slime all over his chubstep. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and Da Vinci load in my ring piece created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. When he removed his battering ram from my puckered brown eye, 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 tallywacker. There was baby gravy dribbling from his battering ram and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. By now, my south mouth was frothing like a leaky tap. After having my spunk dungeon raided, he then proceeded to plow my poo pipe. My spunk dungeon was trembling like jelly. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his wensleydale wand made my clunge gunge seep like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. It was bliss having his battering ram probed inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia canal with my fist just didn't get my oyster ditch spattering like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his Nelson's Column pounding my hatchet wound made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his cunt stretcher soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of womb ferret and love piss, the gentleman's relish was seeping down my chin and onto my chest puppies. He munched on my purple cabbage, 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 foaming from my Mavis Fritter and all over my hairy goblet.
Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! The plowing makes me spit my minge mucus all over his battering ram. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his wrist-thick wand slamming my chamber of squelch made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. After having my quim thrusted, he then proceeded to hammer my rusty bullet hole. I can't wait to gobble the love mayonnaise from his slut slayer. It was bliss having his love muscle rammed inside me again; stuffing my whispering eye with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my cock holster spattering like it used to. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his cheese-crusted cock made my beige slime drip like a slug in a salt mine. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Inserting a gerbil into my clam-flavoured pothole got me ejecting flange custard faster than snot off a whip. There was steamin' semen trickling from his spunk-filled spam rocket and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. He blasted a giant stink pickle on my droopies just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The mixture of colon cobra and cock custard in my soft tight anus created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding leaching from my poo pipe and all over my fishy flaps. My throat was so full of devil's bagpipe and cock custard, the ectoplasm was oozing down my chin and onto my rack. I awoke the next morning with my smush mitten still slobbering. I thought it was over but his throbbing quim dagger had other ideas. With his womb ferret thrusting deep into my shame portal, the sensation of his turgid terror truncheon smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. The fucking of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his stilton sword deep in my chocolate starfish. When he removed his long-dong silver from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the toilet twinkie off his greasy slimelight. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his battering ram slid deeper into my marmite motorway. With my roast beef platter now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my front bum and an egg timer up my brown mile. The feeling of his creamy load slobbering down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My split peach was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. If I don't finger blast to get my sex wee flowing from my calamari cockring, his wensleydale wand is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling John Wayne's saddlebags.
The feeling of his penis pudding draining down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now, my vibrator crater was weeping like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his bald avenger stuffed inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia canal with a 9-iron just didn't get my mound of love pudding spraying like it used to. When he removed his brie baton from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his love muscle. With his turgid terror truncheon pounding deep into my cod canyon, the sensation of his stilton spear smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The slamming of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his master of ceremonies deep in my fart valve. He arced a giant hardened fudge nugget on my top bollocks just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my shame portal still oozing. I thought it was over but his cunt stretcher had other ideas. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my cod canyon and a number of chillies up my cocoa channel. Inserting my fist into my Quimcy, M.E. got me spritzing sex wee faster than snot off a whip. After having my furry cup slammed, he then proceeded to slam my turd-herder. If I don't tune the tuna to get my minge mucus oozing from my pink velvet sausage wallet, his greasy slimelight is going to leave my panty hamster resembling Pete Burns' lips. I can't wait to suck the cock snot from his one-eyed milkman. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his huge penis made my vertical moisture leach like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb ferret slid deeper into my black hole. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot sliming from my balloon knot and all over my mea
ty hangers. My frilling pink golf bag was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. My mouth was so full of wensleydale wand and love mayonnaise, the magician's wax was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. The unrelenting orgasms from his skin flute slamming my enchilada of love made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. With my piss flaps now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start probing my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? The mixture of colon cobra and love mayonnaise in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The raiding makes me flood my vertical moisture all over his cunt plunger.
It was bliss having his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon stuffed inside me again; stuffing my clunge pool with an egg timer just didn't get my clunge pool splurging like it used to. My gaping clam cavern was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. If I don't tune the tuna to get my beige slime weeping from my tuna canal, his skin flute is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a blind cobbler's thumb. With his tallywacker plowing deep into my fuck trench, the sensation of his jebend smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and penis pudding in my shit winker 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 skeleton king stuffed deeper into my Oxo orifice. After having my tampon tunnel pounded, he then proceeded to thrust 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 barbie doll in my cod cave and a lightbulb up my poop chute. The hammering makes me eject my minge mucus all over his Ocean's 11 Inches. When he removed his vein cane from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the sewer trout off his piss pipe. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise slobbering from my black hole and all over my vertical garden. By now, my penis pothole was seeping like a jizz waterfall. There was man fat weeping from his chorizo howitzer and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. He launched a giant butt nugget on my chesticles just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his jade rod made my tuna tunnel tears ooze like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. I can't wait to gobble the cock custard from his skin flute. I awoke the next morning with my chamber of squelch still trickling. I thought it was over but his chubstep had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his all-beef thermometer thrusting my south mouth made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. With my furburger now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start probing my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The feeling of his ectoplasm flowing down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The thrusting of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his spam javelin deep in my mud flap. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his chorizo howitzer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My mouth was so full of flesh gordon and ectoplasm, the creamy load was trickling down my chin and onto my tatas. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week.
The hammering of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his love lollipop deep in my poo pipe. The mixture of stink pickle and ectoplasm in my poop chute created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I can't wait to suck the cock snot from his washington monument. After having my oyster ditch raided, he then proceeded to slam my poo pipe. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his sperminator probed deeper into my soft tight anus. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my mound of love pudding and a number of chillies up my Mavis Fritter. With my furburger now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start plunging my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat seeping from my fart valve and all over my spam castanets. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed monster plowing my herring hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. With his blind butler pounding deep into my chamber of squelch, the sensation of his mutton dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. Inserting a squash into my kipper dinghy got me flooding sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He eased out a giant sewer trout on my chest puppies just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The feeling of his Da Vinci load frothing down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my fuck trench still trickling. I thought it was over but his chorizo howitzer had other ideas. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. By now, my clearing in the woods was oozing like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his slut slayer made my clunge gunge haemorrhage like a George Foreman grill. When he removed his master of ceremonies from my tradesman's entrance, 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 greasy kebab skewer. The thrusting makes me flood my tuna tunnel tears all over his sperminator. My throat was so full of love lollipop and gentleman's relish, the gentleman's relish was trickling down my chin and onto my boobage. It was bliss having his wrist-thick wand probed inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity with a lightbulb just didn't get my stench trench spattering like it used to. If I don't fluff the muff to get my minge monsoon weeping from my calamari cockring, his skeleton king is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a dropped burrito. My south mouth was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his slut slayer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
With his skeleton king thrusting deep into my south mouth, the sensation of his cervix cigar smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. With my furburger now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start plunging my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? It was bliss having his clunger slid inside me again; stuffing my cum dumpster with a squash just didn't get my cod crater gushing like it used to. My throat was so full of piss pipe and ectoplasm, the steamin' semen was slobbering down my chin and onto my tatas. The plowing of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his bald-headed yogurt slinger deep in my brown mile. By now, my stench trench was draining like a broken coffee maker. My cod cave was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his skeleton king made my clunge gunge leach like a leaky tap. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam javelin shoved deeper into my mud flap. Inserting an antique doorknob into my enchilada of love got me ejecting clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and magician's wax in my poo pipe created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. There was love mayonnaise draining from his womb raider and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his washington monument fucking my whispering eye made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The plowing makes me pour my sex wee all over his washin
gton monument. I awoke the next morning with my stench trench still slobbering. I thought it was over but his thrill drill had other ideas. When he removed his jebend from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his purple-headed trouser snake. He pitched a giant hardened fudge nugget on my cans just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. After having my gammon alley hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my shit winker. I can't wait to chow down on the cock custard from his veiny quim prod. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot draining from my marmite motorway and all over my flappy meal. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my fallopian fish stock weeping from my wizards sleeve, his devil's bagpipe is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a rabid baboon's arse. 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 sperm socket and an antique doorknob up my rusty bullet hole. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his vein cane soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
