by Amy Woods
There was creamy load oozing from his love lollipop and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The fucking of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my black hole. With his flesh gordon pounding deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his blind butler smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my birth cannon and a squash up my brown eye. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and creamy load in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm slobbering from my chocolate starfish and all over my purple cabbage. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his love lollipop made my vertical moisture haemorrhage like a hungry pig at a trough. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt plunger plunged deeper into my soft tight anus. If I don't tune the tuna to get my minge monsoon oozing from my spunk dungeon, his turgid terror truncheon is going to leave my clap flaps resembling the south end of a badger going north. He launched a giant toilet twinkie on my superdroopers just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my hatchet wound still foaming. I thought it was over but his womb raider had other ideas. My mouth was so full of bald avenger and cock custard, the cock snot was frothing down my chin and onto my rack. The raiding makes me spritz my pussy batter all over his master of ceremonies. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! I can't wait to lap the ectoplasm from his throbbing quim dagger. The unrelenting orgasms from his sperminator pounding my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. It was bliss having his balony pony plunged inside me again; stuffing my wunder down under with a number of chillies just didn't get my sperm socket spritzing like it used to. After having my cum dumpster slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my fudge factory. My shamevelope was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. By now, my shame portal was sliming like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The feeling of his man fat weeping down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his one-eyed milkman from my Mavis Fritter, 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 spunk-filled spam rocket. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his muffbuster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting an antique doorknob into my clearing in the woods got me spouting flange custard faster than snot off a whip.
Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! With his vein cane thrusting deep into my fuck gutter, the sensation of his greasy slimelight smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and ectoplasm in my vintage golf bag created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish sliming from my chocolate starfish and all over my meaty hangers. I can't wait to consume the creamy load from his cream reaper. The fucking of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his blind butler deep in my cocoa channel. After having my bearded haddock pasty pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my fudge factory. The fucking makes me splurge my shrimp sap all over his master of ceremonies. I awoke the next morning with my cock holster still dripping. I thought it was over but his one-eyed monster had other ideas. It was bliss having his thrill drill slid inside me again; stuffing my clunge pool with a gerbil just didn't get my moose knuckle spraying like it used to. My wunder down under was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. By now, my carp cavity was seeping like a slavering dog. When he removed his blind butler from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the hardened fudge nugget off his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. With my velcro triangle now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start plunging my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a sewer trout, I wondered? Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his pink tractor beam made my clunge gunge leak like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his gristle missile probed deeper into my fudge factory. If I don't play the clitar to get my fallopian fish stock dripping from my hot pocket, his wensleydale wand is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a manatee in yoga pants. The feeling of his creamy load flowing down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. There was creamy load trickling from his thrill drill and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my wunder down under and an antique doorknob up my turd-herder. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his pink tractor beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He launched a giant stink pickle on my fiery biscuits just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The unrelenting orgasms from his devil's bagpipe pounding my split peach made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. Inserting my fist into my ladytown got me spattering clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit.
With his veiny quim prod slamming deep into my chamber of squelch, the sensation of his flesh gordon smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. By now, my vaginal bacon buffet was frothing like a George Foreman grill. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and love piss in my puckered brown eye created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. After having my clunge pool thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my balloon knot. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his devil's bagpipe soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. He eased out a giant stink pickle on my love bubbles just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The unrelenting orgasms from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus plowing my split peach made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. With my panty hamster now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start ramming my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a butt nugget, I wondered? If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my minge monsoon oozing from my ruby cave, his cunt plunger is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a horse's collar. Inserting a barbie doll into my frilling pink golf bag got me flooding pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. There was man fat oozing from his veiny quim prod and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his huge penis made my tuna tunnel tears seep like a broken fridge freezer. My throat was so full of spunk-filled spam rocket and ectoplasm, the love mayonnaise was frothing down my chin and onto my droopies. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my carp cavity and a barbie doll up my mud flap. The feeling of his Da Vinci load dribbling down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my herring hole still leaking. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding draining from my poop chute and all over my piss flaps. The plowing of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his jade rod deep in my poo pipe. When he removed his Ocean's 11 Inches fr
om my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the sewer trout off his purple-headed trouser snake. The slamming makes me pour my fallopian fish stock all over his wensleydale wand. I can't wait to lap the ectoplasm from his love lollipop. It was bliss having his purple beaver buster rammed inside me again; stuffing my cum dumpster with a barbie doll just didn't get my penis pothole spattering like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his washington monument probed deeper into my old dirt road. My carp cavity was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert.
When he removed his devil's bagpipe 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 suck the stink pickle off his veiny quim prod. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his gristle missile rammed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. The unrelenting orgasms from his Nelson's Column fucking my fuck trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. My ground zero grotto was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. He launched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my sweater puppies just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. If I don't flick the bean to get my vertical moisture weeping from my cod cave, his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a sand blasted tomato. My mouth was so full of tenderloin truncheon and magician's wax, the Da Vinci load was flowing down my chin and onto my twin peaks. Inserting a lightbulb into my municipal cockwash got me gushing clunge gunge faster than snot off a whip. With my piss flaps now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start plunging my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a sewer trout, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his gristle missile soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise sliming from my old dirt road and all over my flappy meal. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his clunger made my flange custard leak like a slavering dog. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! By now, my depravity cavity was oozing like a slavering dog. The fucking makes me gush my fallopian fish stock all over his timed slimer. I awoke the next morning with my slime hole still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus had other ideas. The hammering of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his ample cock deep in my black hole. It was bliss having his blue-veined custard chucker slid inside me again; stuffing my penis pothole with my fist just didn't get my south mouth ejecting like it used to. I can't wait to consume the ectoplasm from his one-eyed monster. The mixture of toilet twinkie and cock custard in my marmite motorway created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. With his cumtree hammering deep into my enchilada of love, the sensation of his kebeb skewer smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The feeling of his gentleman's relish draining down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my cum dumpster thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my ring piece. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my municipal cockwash and a squash up my poop chute.
The unrelenting orgasms from his ample cock fucking my vibration station made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my clam-flavoured pothole and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my other vagina. The mixture of stink pickle and ectoplasm in my old dirt road created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. When he removed his cream reaper from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his spunk-filled spam rocket. It was bliss having his pink tractor beam plunged inside me again; stuffing my herring hole with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my penis pothole spouting like it used to. He rolled a giant stink pickle on my cans just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. The fucking makes me flood my flange custard all over his huge penis. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his turgid terror truncheon stuffed deeper into my cocoa channel. After having my kipper dinghy hammered, he then proceeded to thrust my turd-herder. The plowing of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his stilton spear deep in my brown mile. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. I can't wait to consume the magician's wax from his mutton dagger. The feeling of his Da Vinci load seeping down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With my roast beef platter now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start probing my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? My throat was so full of thrill drill and man fat, the gentleman's relish was leaching down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. If I don't tune the tuna to get my minge monsoon leaking from my clearing in the woods, his womb raider is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. I awoke the next morning with my one slice toaster still dripping. I thought it was over but his pink tractor beam had other ideas. Inserting a squash into my cod cave got me flowing spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. With his love muscle slamming deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his love muscle smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. By now, my wunder down under was flowing like a George Foreman grill. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise leaking from my black hole and all over my fishy flaps. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his spam dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My wizards sleeve was trembling like jelly. There was baby gravy dripping from his devil's bagpipe and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more.
When he removed his Nelson's Column from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the corn-eyed butt snake off his bugger king. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and cock custard in my brown mile created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! After having my vaginal bacon buffet slammed, he then proceeded to plow my old dirt road. My south mouth was trembling like a shitting dog. With my clap flaps now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start sliding my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a colon cobra, I wondered? My cake hole was so full of spunk-filled spam rocket and love mayonnaise, the creamy load was seeping down my chin and onto my tatas. It was bliss having his batter blaster stuffed inside me again; stuffing my hatchet wound with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my municipal cockwash flooding like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise flowing from my ring piece and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The hammering of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his jebend deep in my balloon knot. The feeling of his baby gravy seeping down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The unrelenting orgasms from his skin flute pounding my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. If I don't study english cliterature to get my fallo
pian fish stock haemorrhaging from my wunder down under, his blue-veined custard chucker is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a twisted slipper. With his greasy slimelight fucking deep into my chamber of squelch, the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. I awoke the next morning with my tuna canal still leaching. I thought it was over but his washington monument had other ideas. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my furry cup and a 15" spiked vibrator up my fudge factory. The raiding makes me spritz my shrimp sap all over his vein cane. Inserting a squash into my vaginal bacon buffet got me spritzing spaff faster than snot off a whip. I can't wait to consume the love piss from his womb ferret. By now, my enchilada of love was seeping like a jizz waterfall. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his turgid terror truncheon plunged deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. There was penis pudding draining from his disco stick and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. He rolled a giant sewer trout on my tatas just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his flesh gordon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
