by Amy Woods
Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his slut slayer probed deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. The plowing of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his blind butler deep in my fart valve. My herring hole was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. By now, my cod cave was leaking like a broken coffee maker. When he removed his jade rod from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the butt nugget off his spam javelin. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my vaginal bacon buffet and a 15" spiked vibrator up my turd cutter. Inserting an antique doorknob into my cod crater got me spritzing fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. He crowned a giant Mr. Hanky on my boobage just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and cock snot in my old dirt road created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. After having my vibrator crater raided, he then proceeded to plow my poop chute. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his love muscle soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The fucking makes me flow my minge mucus all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. If I don't finger blast to get my pussy batter flowing from my furry cup, his Nelson's Column is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling an over inflated dinghy. With my velcro triangle now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start ramming my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. With his skeleton king fucking deep into my calamari cockring, the sensation of his greasy kebab skewer smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his blind butler made my flange custard flow like a leaky tap. It was bliss having his ramrod rammed inside me again; stuffing my sperm socket with a gerbil just didn't get my pink velvet sausage wallet spritzing like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load dripping from my balloon knot and all over my roast beef platter. The feeling of his gentleman's relish leaking down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The unrelenting orgasms from his washington monument fucking my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. I awoke the next morning with my chlamydia canal still weeping. I thought it was over but his devil's bagpipe had other ideas. I can't wait to chow down on the baby gravy from his timed slimer. There was steamin' semen haemorrhaging from his bugger king and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more.
Inserting a lightbulb into my kipper dinghy got me spritzing minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his blind butler soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my slime hole was draining like a George Foreman grill. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his veiny quim prod made my minge monsoon dribble like a George Foreman grill. After having my cod cave fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my marmite motorway. The plowing of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his wrist-thick wand deep in my fudge factory. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my spaff flowing from my tampon tunnel, his chubstep is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a horse's collar. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start sliding my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a toilet twinkie, I wondered? He cut a giant butt nugget on my mosquito bites just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss dribbling from my chocolate starfish and all over my vertical garden. The thrusting makes me spritz my minge mucus all over his Ocean's 11 Inches. My cake hole was so full of clunger and man fat, the cock snot was flowing down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. I can't wait to consume the baby gravy from his spam javelin. My one slice toaster was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. When he removed his thrill drill from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the toilet twinkie off his greasy kebab skewer. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and man fat in my balloon knot created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my south mouth and an egg timer up my puckered brown eye. The unrelenting orgasms from his flesh gordon plowing my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! There was man fat slobbering from his spam dagger and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his gristle missile probed inside me again; stuffing my shame portal with a barbie doll just didn't get my wunder down under splurging like it used to. The feeling of his steamin' semen trickling down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With his slut slayer slamming deep into my cock holster, the sensation of his devil's bagpipe smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blue-veined custard chucker plunged deeper into my fudge factory.
By now, my wunder down under was dribbling like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his chorizo howitzer made my tuna tunnel tears dribble like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. I can't wait to gobble the baby gravy from his clunger. The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy kebab skewer thrusting my whispering eye made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. The hammering of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his sperminator deep in my poop chute. 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 gashtray and a 15" spiked vibrator up my Oxo orifice. My mouth was so full of cheese-crusted cock and love piss, the cock custard was dripping down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. The slamming makes me spout my shrimp sap all over his one-eyed milkman. My chamber of squelch was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He cut a giant Mr. Hanky on my rack just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Inserting an egg timer into my gammon alley got me gushing clunge gunge faster than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my fuck gutter still dribbling. I thought it was over but his long-dong silver had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his veiny quim prod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. When he removed his washington monument from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the sewer trout off his cervix cigar. The feeling of his penis pudding trickling down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his wrist-thick wand stuffed deeper into my mud flap. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! The mixture of colon cobra and man fat in my balloon knot created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy leaching from my turd cutter and all over my velcro triangle. With his timed slimer plowing deep into my clearing in the woods, th
e sensation of his skin flute smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. It was bliss having his muffbuster shoved inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity with a squash just didn't get my clunge pool pouring like it used to. There was baby gravy dripping from his ramrod and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my sex wee dripping from my mound of love pudding, his all-beef thermometer is going to leave my furburger resembling a motorway pileup. With my vertical smile now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start ramming my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered?
If I don't strum the banjo to get my minge mucus flowing from my penis pothole, his chorizo howitzer is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. My kipper dinghy was trembling like a shitting dog. The unrelenting orgasms from his slut slayer pounding my fuck gutter made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen foaming from my shit winker and all over my meaty hangers. He pitched a giant sewer trout on my rack just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. With my hairy goblet now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start stuffing my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my spunk dungeon and an egg timer up my fudge factory. When he removed his jebend from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the corn-eyed butt snake off his piss pipe. Inserting a squash into my oyster ditch got me flooding pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was cock snot leaking from his cheese-crusted cock and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his stilton spear probed inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam cavern with a 9-iron just didn't get my smush mitten spraying like it used to. My mouth was so full of batter blaster and man fat, the ectoplasm was sliming down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his timed slimer made my spaff slobber like a leaky tap. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. By now, my meat purse was frothing like a slavering dog. With his cunt plunger raiding deep into my front bum, the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The pounding of my puckered brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his spam dagger deep in my ring piece. The feeling of his cock custard foaming down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and magician's wax in my other vagina created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his balony pony 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 one-eyed monster plunged deeper into my rusty bullet hole. I awoke the next morning with my ladytown still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his flesh gordon had other ideas. The thrusting makes me splurge my sex wee all over his blue-veined custard chucker. After having my cock holster pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my fudge factory. I can't wait to consume the Da Vinci load from his batter blaster.
Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! The pounding makes me spray my pussy batter all over his chubstep. I can't wait to suck the penis pudding from his washington monument. He launched a giant stink pickle on my rack just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his giggle stick slid deeper into my tradesman's entrance. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his jebend soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his womb ferret rammed inside me again; stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with a 9-iron just didn't get my fuck trench spouting like it used to. When he removed his disco stick from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his battering ram. The feeling of his magician's wax trickling down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. If I don't fluff the muff to get my minge monsoon dripping from my mound of love pudding, his tenderloin truncheon is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a stuntman's knee. By now, my hatchet wound was dribbling like a jizz waterfall. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his ample cock made my flange custard drip like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. With his spam javelin thrusting deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his wensleydale wand smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. There was penis pudding sliming from his spam dagger and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. With my velcro triangle now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start shoving my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? My cake hole was so full of purple-headed trouser snake and creamy load, the ectoplasm was dripping down my chin and onto my rack. Inserting a number of chillies into my vibrator crater got me spouting tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish flowing from my poop chute and all over my vertical smile. The unrelenting orgasms from his sperminator fucking my quim made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. The mixture of sewer trout and creamy load in my poo pipe created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my meat purse and a 9-iron up my brown eye. I awoke the next morning with my smush mitten still seeping. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. The slamming of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his wensleydale wand deep in my chocolate starfish. After having my cod cave raided, he then proceeded to fuck my black hole.
The mixture of butt nugget and man fat in my ring piece created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my stench trench still foaming. I thought it was over but his Ocean's 11 Inches had other ideas. The pounding of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his blind butler deep in my marmite motorway. My mouth was so full of tenderloin truncheon and man fat, the love mayonnaise was dribbling down my chin and onto my chesticles. By now, my vibration station was oozing like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. With my panty hamster now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start plunging my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? I can't wait to chow down on the baby gravy from his cumtree. If I don't study english cliterature to get my sex wee weeping from my quim, his balony pony is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. When he removed his ample cock from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the Mr. Hanky off his bald avenger. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his slut slayer slid deeper into my ring piece. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise dripping from my Mavis Fritter and all over my panty hamster. After having my smush mitten pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my shit winker. My whispering eye was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Inserting an antique doorknob into my shame portal got me spritzing tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his love muscle fucking deep into my hot pocket, the sensation of his long-dong silver smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly
. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his skin flute made my vertical moisture ooze like a broken fridge freezer. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The raiding makes me eject my minge mucus all over his timed slimer. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his flesh gordon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my meat purse and a 9-iron up my old dirt road. The feeling of his cock snot frothing down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. It was bliss having his long-dong silver plunged inside me again; stuffing my wizards sleeve with an antique doorknob just didn't get my gashtray gushing like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his tenderloin truncheon plowing my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. There was magician's wax weeping from his purple beaver buster and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more.
