by Amy Woods
My hatchet wound was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding oozing from my marmite motorway and all over my fishy flaps. The pounding of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his skin flute deep in my marmite motorway. The feeling of his love mayonnaise weeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. There was cock custard haemorrhaging from his thrill drill and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The raiding makes me pour my minge mucus all over his blue-veined custard chucker. By now, my sperm socket was flowing like a rabid dog. With his mutton dagger plowing deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his purple-headed trouser snake smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his spam javelin soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my gaping clam cavern still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his master of ceremonies had other ideas. The mixture of stink pickle and man fat in my poop chute created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his pink tractor beam probed inside me again; stuffing my herring hole with a gerbil just didn't get my chamber of squelch spouting like it used to. He cut a giant Mr. Hanky on my sweater puppies just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. After having my cod cave raided, he then proceeded to raid my shit winker. When he removed his batter blaster from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the colon cobra off his devil's bagpipe. The unrelenting orgasms from his chubstep fucking my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his long-dong silver rammed deeper into my tradesman's entrance. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his spam dagger made my shrimp sap flow like a broken coffee maker. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. With my purple cabbage now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start plunging my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a colon cobra, I wondered? Inserting a lightbulb into my clunge pool got me gushing flange custard faster than snot off a whip. My mouth was so full of cunt stretcher and love piss, the gentleman's relish was slobbering down my chin and onto my tatas. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my pussy batter flowing from my split peach, his one-eyed milkman is going to leave my furburger resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my depravity cavity and an antique doorknob up my mud flap.
He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. When he removed his giggle stick from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the colon cobra off his wensleydale wand. I awoke the next morning with my clearing in the woods still leaking. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. The feeling of his creamy load haemorrhaging down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load leaking from my mud flap and all over my lunchmeat. Inserting a number of chillies into my clunge pool got me spouting sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. By now, my hatchet wound was foaming like a leaky tap. After having my shame portal hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my poo pipe. The mixture of butt nugget and love piss in my brown eye created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! With my fishy flaps now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start shoving my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a butt nugget, I wondered? My cake hole was so full of cheese-crusted cock and love piss, the cock custard was oozing down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. With his skin flute fucking deep into my stench trench, the sensation of his womb ferret smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my spaff leaching from my hot pocket, his chubstep is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a manatee in yoga pants. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his cunt stretcher made my fallopian fish stock trickle like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. He pinched off a giant sewer trout on my chest puppies just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. The unrelenting orgasms from his womb ferret pounding my fuck trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. My fuck trench was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The thrusting makes me squirt my pussy batter all over his gristle missile. It was bliss having his turgid terror truncheon rammed inside me again; stuffing my tuna canal with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my shamevelope gushing like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his bugger king soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The thrusting of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his battering ram deep in my soft tight anus. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his greasy slimelight plunged deeper into my vintage golf bag. There was creamy load oozing from his purple-headed trouser snake and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my shame portal and a 9-iron up my turd-herder.
The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't study english cliterature to get my minge mucus weeping from my gaping clam cavern, his jade rod is going to leave my vertical garden resembling the south end of a badger going north. It was bliss having his brie baton stuffed inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity with a lightbulb just didn't get my Quimcy, M.E. spouting like it used to. The thrusting makes me spray my sex wee all over his batter blaster. He dropped a giant sewer trout on my top bollocks just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. When he removed his spam javelin from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the stink pickle off his spam javelin. The mixture of colon cobra and gentleman's relish in my balloon knot created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding dribbling from my chocolate starfish and all over my flappy meal. With his muffbuster hammering deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his flesh gordon smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The feeling of his cock custard oozing down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his giggle stick pounding my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. My chamber of squelch was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Inserting an egg timer into my vibration station got me spritzing tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. My throat was so full of disco stick and creamy load, the love piss was oozing down my chin and onto my boobage. The thrusting of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his spam javelin deep in my turd-herder. With my clap flaps now much like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start probing my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his jebend
made my shrimp sap flow like a broken fridge freezer. After having my ruby cave hammered, he then proceeded to plow my soft tight anus. There was magician's wax trickling from his ramrod and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. By now, my tuna canal was dribbling like a broken coffee maker. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my spunk dungeon and a number of chillies up my other vagina. I awoke the next morning with my hatchet wound still dripping. I thought it was over but his stilton spear had other ideas. I can't wait to chow down on the love piss from his stilton sword.
He pinched off a giant toilet twinkie on my chest puppies just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my hatchet wound and a 9-iron up my marmite motorway. The raiding of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his mutton dagger deep in my rusty bullet hole. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his gristle missile made my clunge gunge drip like a jizz waterfall. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy flowing from my Mavis Fritter and all over my panty hamster. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his clunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my ground zero grotto pounded, he then proceeded to slam my turd cutter. My cake hole was so full of devil's bagpipe and love piss, the cock custard was trickling down my chin and onto my chest puppies. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my pussy batter trickling from my soft-shelled tuna taco, his blue-veined custard chucker is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt stretcher rammed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. The unrelenting orgasms from his ample cock thrusting my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. When he removed his one-eyed milkman from my brown eye, 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 timed slimer. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! With his cunt stretcher raiding deep into my cum dumpster, the sensation of his stilton sword smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I awoke the next morning with my spunk dungeon still foaming. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. The feeling of his creamy load leaking down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. There was Da Vinci load dripping from his blind butler and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. With my furburger now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? My hatchet wound was trembling like jelly. The fucking makes me gush my spaff all over his stilton spear. The mixture of sewer trout and magician's wax in my chocolate starfish created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. By now, my clam-flavoured pothole was leaking like a George Foreman grill. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my clam-flavoured pothole got me flooding shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his ramrod shoved inside me again; stuffing my vaginal bacon buffet with a barbie doll just didn't get my wunder down under flooding like it used to. I can't wait to devour the cock snot from his gristle missile.
The mixture of butt nugget and man fat in my turd-herder created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. When he removed his throbbing quim dagger from my balloon knot, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the sewer trout off his blue-veined custard chucker. It was bliss having his spunk-filled spam rocket shoved inside me again; stuffing my ladytown with an egg timer just didn't get my ladytown pouring like it used to. By now, my birth cannon was sliming like a hungry pig at a trough. My meat purse was trembling like jelly. With his sperminator raiding deep into my hot pocket, the sensation of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his gristle missile made my fallopian fish stock drain like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. With my velcro triangle now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start plunging my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? There was creamy load oozing from his clunger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The plowing of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his spam javelin deep in my turd-herder. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my sperm socket and a barbie doll up my soft tight anus. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his mutton dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my soft-shelled tuna taco still draining. I thought it was over but his pink tractor beam had other ideas. He crowned a giant hardened fudge nugget on my mosquito bites just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his giggle stick probed deeper into my tradesman's entrance. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton spear hammering my mound of love pudding made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! After having my south mouth thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my other vagina. The pounding makes me gush my vertical moisture all over his jade rod. My throat was so full of chubstep and baby gravy, the cock custard was trickling down my chin and onto my droopies. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish leaking from my turd cutter and all over my lunchmeat. The feeling of his gentleman's relish slobbering down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. If I don't study english cliterature to get my spaff sliming from my gaping clam cavern, his bald-headed yogurt slinger is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my tuna canal got me ejecting spaff faster than a greased weasel shit.
With my purple cabbage now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start probing my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? My bearded haddock pasty was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. There was creamy load frothing from his disco stick and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his sperminator pounding my meat purse made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. When he removed his blue-veined custard chucker from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the hardened fudge nugget off his balony pony. The fucking of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his timed slimer deep in my tradesman's entrance. By now, my spunk dungeon was foaming like a broken coffee maker. After having my calamari cockring hammered, he then proceeded to slam my brown eye. With his all-beef thermometer pounding deep into my clearing in the woods, the sensation of his cream reaper smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. If I don't flick the bean to get my vertical moisture draining from my birth cannon, his turgid terror truncheon is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a dropped burrito. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my ground zero grotto and my fist up my balloon knot. The feeling of his baby gravy d
raining down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his tallywacker soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my cod crater still dribbling. I thought it was over but his flesh gordon had other ideas. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! Inserting a lightbulb into my Quimcy, M.E. got me spouting vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his balony pony made my clunge gunge dribble like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The mixture of stink pickle and baby gravy in my chocolate starfish created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He crowned a giant colon cobra on my tatas just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. My cake hole was so full of skin flute and cock custard, the man fat was flowing down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding foaming from my other vagina and all over my purple cabbage. I can't wait to gobble the cock custard from his spam dagger. The hammering makes me eject my fallopian fish stock all over his washington monument. It was bliss having his chorizo howitzer slid inside me again; stuffing my pink velvet sausage wallet with a gerbil just didn't get my cod canyon flowing like it used to.
