by Amy Woods
With his purple-headed trouser snake pounding deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his chorizo howitzer smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. There was cock custard frothing from his ample cock and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his battering ram stuffed inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity with an antique doorknob just didn't get my smush mitten spritzing like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my kipper dinghy still slobbering. I thought it was over but his kebeb skewer had other ideas. After having my shamevelope hammered, he then proceeded to pound my fudge factory. When he removed his blind butler from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the toilet twinkie off his meaty member. With my vertical garden now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start shoving my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Inserting a barbie doll into my shamevelope got me flowing clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. The slamming of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his cream reaper deep in my balloon knot. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt stretcher plunged deeper into my cocoa channel. If I don't strum the banjo to get my minge mucus leaking from my gaping clam cavern, his spunk-filled spam rocket is going to leave my piss flaps resembling Pete Burns' lips. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat dripping from my turd-herder and all over my roast beef platter. He eased out a giant sewer trout on my fiery biscuits just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and magician's wax in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. My throat was so full of cervix cigar and magician's wax, the steamin' semen was sliming down my chin and onto my boobage. I can't wait to devour the love piss from his bugger king. The raiding makes me flow my fallopian fish stock all over his cream reaper. The feeling of his man fat draining down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his blind butler soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my cod canyon and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my rusty sherif's badge. By now, my cod crater was frothing like a leaky tap. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his huge penis made my shrimp sap drain like a broken coffee maker. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his devil's bagpipe plowing my soft-shelled tuna taco made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load draining from my turd cutter and all over my purple cabbage. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt stretcher probed deeper into my ring piece. I can't wait to chow down on the gentleman's relish from his greasy kebab skewer. The feeling of his man fat foaming down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My clunge pool was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my clam-flavoured pothole got me splurging vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my furburger now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start sliding my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! When he removed his meaty member 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 devour the toilet twinkie off his disco stick. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his skeleton king made my pussy batter foam like a rabid dog. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The mixture of colon cobra and ectoplasm in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. If I don't flick the bean to get my flange custard sliming from my carp cavity, his jade rod is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a shot cat. He blasted a giant footlong fudge bullet on my twin peaks just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With his vein cane raiding deep into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. After having my ruby cave pounded, he then proceeded to slam my fudge factory. The hammering of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his gristle missile deep in my chocolate starfish. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his blind butler soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My mouth was so full of greasy kebab skewer and steamin' semen, the gentleman's relish was seeping down my chin and onto my chest puppies. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my depravity cavity and a 15" spiked vibrator up my vintage golf bag. I awoke the next morning with my shamevelope still foaming. I thought it was over but his cervix cigar had other ideas. The raiding makes me spray my sex wee all over his kebeb skewer. By now, my split peach was frothing like a slug in a salt mine. The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod fucking my mound of love pudding made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. It was bliss having his washington monument stuffed inside me again; stuffing my chamber of squelch with a squash just didn't get my gashtray surging like it used to.
With my spam castanets now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start ramming my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a toilet twinkie, I wondered? 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 clam-flavoured pothole and a 9-iron up my other vagina. After having my vibration station pounded, he then proceeded to plow my soft tight anus. My tuna canal was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. When he removed his tenderloin truncheon from my cocoa channel, 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 slut slayer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load draining from my fudge factory and all over my velcro triangle. My mouth was so full of greasy slimelight and steamin' semen, the cock custard was oozing down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. The unrelenting orgasms from his pink tractor beam plowing my herring hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. Inserting an antique doorknob into my birth cannon got me gushing fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of sewer trout and cock custard in my Oxo orifice created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The plowing makes me pour my flange custard all over his one-eyed milkman. There was baby gravy draining from his blind butler and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. By now, my smush mitten was haemorrhaging like a leaky tap. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his huge penis made my fallopian fish stock leak like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. If I don't finger blast to get my minge monsoon leaking from my fuck gutter, his cheese-crusted cock is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a hippo's yawn. He munched on my spam castanets, 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 washington monument probed deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. I awoke the next morning with my vaginal bacon buffet still dribbling. I thought it was over but his huge penis had other ideas. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a motorway pileu
p, and I was no different! With his spam javelin slamming deep into my whispering eye, the sensation of his jade rod smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The raiding of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my poop chute. He arced a giant stink pickle on my mosquito bites just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his vein cane soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his steamin' semen oozing down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait to chow down on the cock snot from his wensleydale wand.
When he removed his piss pipe from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the corn-eyed butt snake off his washington monument. 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 herring hole and an egg timer up my fart valve. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss dripping from my turd cutter and all over my purple cabbage. After having my tampon tunnel thrusted, he then proceeded to hammer my turd cutter. The feeling of his love piss seeping down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now, my gashtray was flowing like a leaky tap. My mouth was so full of skin flute and cock snot, the cock snot was sliming down my chin and onto my cans. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! With his cheese-crusted cock raiding deep into my smush mitten, the sensation of his slut slayer smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I awoke the next morning with my quim still dripping. I thought it was over but his jebend had other ideas. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his ramrod made my beige slime weep like a broken fridge freezer. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and ectoplasm in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper fucking my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. I can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. It was bliss having his cunt plunger shoved inside me again; stuffing my fuck trench with a number of chillies just didn't get my cod crater gushing like it used to. Inserting a number of chillies into my clearing in the woods got me ejecting tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. If I don't buff the muff to get my vertical moisture foaming from my tampon tunnel, his blue-veined custard chucker is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a gutted trout. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. He cut a giant toilet twinkie on my top bollocks just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The raiding makes me spritz my vertical moisture all over his muffbuster. The plowing of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his vein cane deep in my poo pipe. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his jade rod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My depravity cavity was trembling like jelly. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his giggle stick probed deeper into my ring piece. There was ectoplasm oozing from his brie baton and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more.
Inserting a number of chillies into my fuck gutter got me spraying vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip. The mixture of butt nugget and baby gravy in my old dirt road created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. There was man fat trickling from his one-eyed milkman and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. By now, my gaping clam cavern was draining like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The raiding of my puckered brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his ramrod deep in my Oxo orifice. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! With his purple beaver buster thrusting deep into my Quimcy, M.E., the sensation of his Nelson's Column smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. My soft-shelled tuna taco was trembling like jelly. I awoke the next morning with my oyster ditch still seeping. I thought it was over but his washington monument had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his balony pony hammering my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. He pinched off a giant toilet twinkie on my sweater puppies just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my meat purse and a barbie doll up my other vagina. After having my quim fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my rusty bullet hole. When he removed his throbbing quim dagger from my cocoa channel, 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 cunt stretcher. I can't wait to chow down on the steamin' semen from his all-beef thermometer. The fucking makes me spit my minge mucus all over his veiny quim prod. The feeling of his creamy load oozing down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My mouth was so full of eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and magician's wax, the baby gravy was draining down my chin and onto my twin peaks. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my tuna tunnel tears slobber like a jizz waterfall. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load leaking from my vintage golf bag and all over my flappy meal. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bald-headed yogurt slinger rammed deeper into my brown eye. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start sliding my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? It was bliss having his purple beaver buster slid inside me again; stuffing my fuck gutter with a lightbulb just didn't get my shamevelope spattering like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his sperminator soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! With his purple-headed trouser snake plowing deep into my whispering eye, the sensation of his tallywacker smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and baby gravy in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his greasy slimelight made my beige slime haemorrhage like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The hammering of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his chubstep deep in my rusty bullet hole. After having my frilling pink golf bag plowed, he then proceeded to pound my vintage golf bag. My cake hole was so full of vein cane and cock snot, the penis pudding was leaching down my chin and onto my tatas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding haemorrhaging from my chocolate starfish and all over my flappy meal. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my chlamydia canal and a barbie doll up my Oxo orifice. The thrusting makes me spritz my minge mucus all over his cervix cigar. He rolled a giant stink pickle on my boobage just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With my velcro triangle now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start probing my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a stink pickle, I wondered? By now, my enchilada of love was flowing like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. The feeling of his Da Vinci load seeping down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. When he removed his ample cock from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to lap the corn-eyed butt snake off his tallywacker. If I don't strum the banjo to get my minge mucus slobbering from my vibration station, his greasy slimelight is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger fucking my stench trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my tampon tunnel still sliming. I thought it was over but his greasy slimelight had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his sperminator probed deeper into my marmite motorway. It was bliss having his womb raider shoved inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with a number of chillies just didn't get my chamber of squelch flooding like it used to. I can't wait to chow down on the cock custard from his tallywacker. Inserting a gerbil into my mound of love pudding got me squirting clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. My gashtray was trembling like a shitting dog. There was love piss draining from his meaty member and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more.
