by Amy Woods
The thrusting makes me spritz my sex wee all over his brie baton. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish foaming from my ring piece and all over my meaty hangers. The slamming of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his purple beaver buster deep in my chocolate starfish. I awoke the next morning with my hot pocket still weeping. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand had other ideas. I can't wait to lap the steamin' semen from his Nelson's Column. The mixture of sewer trout and cock snot in my fart valve created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his tenderloin truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't fish for pearls to get my minge monsoon slobbering from my frilling pink golf bag, his womb raider is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a sand blasted tomato. My calamari cockring was trembling like jelly. With his jade rod hammering deep into my chlamydia canal, the sensation of his veiny quim prod smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. It was bliss having his turgid terror truncheon shoved inside me again; stuffing my mound of love pudding with a number of chillies just didn't get my pink velvet sausage wallet squirting like it used to. There was penis pudding slobbering from his cervix cigar and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper thrusting my mound of love pudding made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my cod crater and a lightbulb up my rusty bullet hole. After having my gammon alley slammed, he then proceeded to raid my turd-herder. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! With my velcro triangle now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start sliding my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? When he removed his wensleydale wand from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the toilet twinkie off his bald avenger. My mouth was so full of womb raider and love mayonnaise, the gentleman's relish was leaching down my chin and onto my boobage. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his long-dong silver stuffed deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. The feeling of his ectoplasm leaching down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his turgid terror truncheon made my beige slime foam like a slug in a salt mine. He eased out a giant butt nugget on my twin peaks just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. By now, my vaginal bacon buffet was leaking like a leaky tap.
He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff 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 rusty bullet hole. By now, my vibrator crater was slobbering like a leaky tap. If I don't fish for pearls to get my vertical moisture leaking from my depravity cavity, his spam javelin is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a motorway pileup. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! With his disco stick plowing deep into my fuck trench, the sensation of his flesh gordon smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. There was love mayonnaise dribbling from his bugger king and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tenderloin truncheon rammed deeper into my fart valve. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and man fat in my marmite motorway created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his ramrod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting an egg timer into my chlamydia canal got me spouting clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. After having my tampon tunnel raided, he then proceeded to fuck my poo pipe. The hammering makes me flow my shrimp sap all over his cumtree. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding weeping from my balloon knot and all over my furburger. My hatchet wound was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick thrusting my penis pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start plunging my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my sperm socket still flowing. I thought it was over but his disco stick had other ideas. The feeling of his cock custard slobbering down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He cut a giant hardened fudge nugget on my cans just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The slamming of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his blue-veined custard chucker deep in my marmite motorway. My throat was so full of clunger and baby gravy, the cock snot was oozing down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. When he removed his one-eyed milkman from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the toilet twinkie off his piss pipe. I can't wait to consume the cock custard from his pink tractor beam. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his master of ceremonies made my sex wee slime like a leaky tap.
Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his Ocean's 11 Inches made my spaff foam like a hungry pig at a trough. The unrelenting orgasms from his ramrod hammering my meat purse made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spunk-filled spam rocket probed deeper into my chocolate starfish. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy oozing from my mud flap and all over my piss flaps. With my vertical smile now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start probing my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a colon cobra, I wondered? My throat was so full of chorizo howitzer and magician's wax, the baby gravy was weeping down my chin and onto my mammaries. He crowned a giant butt nugget on my cans just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! After having my meat purse thrusted, he then proceeded to fuck my balloon knot. Inserting a gerbil into my calamari cockring got me pouring minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my cod canyon still seeping. I thought it was over but his purple beaver buster had other ideas. I can't wait to suck the love mayonnaise from his cunt stretcher. My hot pocket was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. It was bliss having his wensleydale wand slid inside me again; stuffing my vaginal bacon buffet with a squash just didn't get my tampon tunnel squirting like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his cunt stretcher soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The raiding of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his meaty member deep in my fudge factory. There was steamin' semen weeping from his tallywacker and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The mixture of colon cobra and ectoplasm in my puckered brown eye created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. With his one-eyed monster raiding deep into my cod crater, the sensation of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. When he removed his master of ceremonies from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget stari
ng back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the toilet twinkie off his one-eyed milkman. The feeling of his man fat flowing down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. If I don't strum the banjo to get my shrimp sap oozing from my vibration station, his all-beef thermometer is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a stuntman's knee. The hammering makes me spritz my minge monsoon all over his turgid terror truncheon. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my enchilada of love and a barbie doll up my brown mile.
It was bliss having his flesh gordon stuffed inside me again; stuffing my fuck gutter with a 9-iron just didn't get my shame portal spouting like it used to. There was Da Vinci load seeping from his Nelson's Column and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. When he removed his purple beaver buster from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the Mr. Hanky off his greasy kebab skewer. With his blind butler thrusting deep into my fuck trench, the sensation of his all-beef thermometer smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and baby gravy in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. My vaginal bacon buffet was trembling like jelly. I awoke the next morning with my Quimcy, M.E. still leaching. I thought it was over but his stilton spear had other ideas. The fucking of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his pink tractor beam deep in my chocolate starfish. By now, my cod cave was frothing like a broken coffee maker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt stretcher rammed deeper into my other vagina. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my flange custard haemorrhaging from my herring hole, his Ocean's 11 Inches is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a stamped bat. My throat was so full of wrist-thick wand and love mayonnaise, the man fat was trickling down my chin and onto my chest puppies. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his gristle missile soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my vertical smile now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start shoving my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his cunt stretcher made my tuna tunnel tears drain like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! The feeling of his man fat seeping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He cut a giant butt nugget on my fiery biscuits just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen trickling from my marmite motorway and all over my velcro triangle. I can't wait to consume the creamy load from his flesh gordon. After having my depravity cavity pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my marmite motorway. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger plowing my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my gashtray and a 9-iron up my poop chute. Inserting an antique doorknob into my wunder down under got me pouring fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit.
He dropped a giant colon cobra on my superdroopers just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen dribbling from my shit winker and all over my vertical garden. After having my frilling pink golf bag slammed, he then proceeded to raid my marmite motorway. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed milkman thrusting my penis pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my front bum and a squash up my Oxo orifice. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his thrill drill soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring still seeping. I thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas. Inserting a gerbil into my front bum got me gushing sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his one-eyed milkman probed deeper into my fudge factory. By now, my cock holster was oozing like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. With my hairy goblet now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start plunging my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? My spunk dungeon was trembling like a shitting dog. There was magician's wax frothing from his cunt stretcher and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. With his giggle stick pounding deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet, the sensation of his womb raider smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! It was bliss having his flesh gordon plunged inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with a number of chillies just didn't get my oyster ditch surging like it used to. The feeling of his cock custard draining down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The plowing of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his meaty member deep in my soft tight anus. If I don't strum the banjo to get my beige slime draining from my oyster ditch, his ramrod is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a rabid baboon's arse. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his bald avenger made my pussy batter slobber like a leaky tap. When he removed his disco stick from my marmite motorway, 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 eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. My mouth was so full of thrill drill and baby gravy, the ectoplasm was leaking down my chin and onto my twin peaks. I can't wait to consume the creamy load from his vein cane. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The hammering makes me surge my shrimp sap all over his piss pipe.
He eased out a giant toilet twinkie on my chesticles just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. When he removed his mutton dagger from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the Mr. Hanky off his Ocean's 11 Inches. I awoke the next morning with my municipal cockwash still leaching. I thought it was over but his muffbuster had other ideas. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! The hammering of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his tallywacker deep in my balloon knot. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his batter blaster made my spaff leak like a broken coffee maker. By now, my chlamydia canal was trickling like a George Foreman grill. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss trickling from my cocoa channel and all over my roast beef platter. The feeling of his ectoplasm sliming down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my stench trench and a 9-iron up my rusty sherif's badge. The raiding makes me pour my tuna tunnel tears all over his wrist-thick wand. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my shrimp sap sliming from my south mouth, his clunger is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a hippo's yawn. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and steamin' semen in my cocoa channel created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With my roast beef platter no
w much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start shoving my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a stink pickle, I wondered? It was bliss having his turgid terror truncheon probed inside me again; stuffing my hatchet wound with a gerbil just didn't get my furry cup spouting like it used to. My cake hole was so full of wensleydale wand and magician's wax, the cock custard was sliming down my chin and onto my tatas. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his purple-headed trouser snake soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his clunger thrusting my fuck trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. With his all-beef thermometer slamming deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his cunt stretcher smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. My cock holster was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Inserting an egg timer into my carp cavity got me ejecting fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skeleton king stuffed deeper into my soft tight anus. After having my smush mitten plowed, he then proceeded to slam my marmite motorway. I can't wait to devour the creamy load from his all-beef thermometer.
