by Amy Woods
With my meaty hangers now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jebend slid deeper into my ring piece. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my fuck trench and an antique doorknob up my brown mile. The unrelenting orgasms from his flesh gordon hammering my south mouth made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Inserting a squash into my furry cup got me splurging fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my clunge pool still sliming. I thought it was over but his Ocean's 11 Inches had other ideas. The plowing makes me spray my minge monsoon all over his chubstep. There was cock snot haemorrhaging from his slut slayer and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. With his chorizo howitzer slamming deep into my ruby cave, the sensation of his cervix cigar smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his turgid terror truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! The feeling of his magician's wax slobbering down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to suck the steamin' semen from his cheese-crusted cock. When he removed his chorizo howitzer from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the toilet twinkie off his womb ferret. After having my spunk dungeon slammed, he then proceeded to slam my brown eye. By now, my gaping clam cavern was frothing like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load haemorrhaging from my vintage golf bag and all over my beef curtains. It was bliss having his turgid terror truncheon rammed inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with a 9-iron just didn't get my Quimcy, M.E. pouring like it used to. My cake hole was so full of stilton spear and steamin' semen, the baby gravy was dripping down my chin and onto my rack. He pitched a giant sewer trout on my superdroopers just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. If I don't buff the muff to get my fallopian fish stock oozing from my gashtray, his gristle missile is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his one-eyed monster made my shrimp sap slobber like a broken fridge freezer. The raiding of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his blue-veined custard chucker deep in my Mavis Fritter. My cum dumpster was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery.
The unrelenting orgasms from his chorizo howitzer plowing my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock custard in my black hole created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He arced a giant stink pickle on my twin peaks just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My cake hole was so full of jade rod and Da Vinci load, the penis pudding was leaking down my chin and onto my superdroopers. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy draining from my fudge factory and all over my clap flaps. By now, my chlamydia canal was leaking like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The raiding makes me spritz my pussy batter all over his bald avenger. When he removed his cumtree from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the hardened fudge nugget off his washington monument. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon stuffed deeper into my shit winker. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start sliding my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Inserting an egg timer into my clunge pool got me squirting spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. With his Nelson's Column slamming deep into my ruby cave, the sensation of his skeleton king smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. It was bliss having his womb raider stuffed inside me again; stuffing my vibration station with my fist just didn't get my enchilada of love splurging like it used to. My municipal cockwash was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. After having my tampon tunnel plowed, he then proceeded to slam my turd cutter. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my minge mucus slobber like a jizz waterfall. The feeling of his penis pudding draining down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The slamming of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his bald avenger deep in my brown mile. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my chlamydia canal and an egg timer up my shit winker. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't flick the bean to get my fallopian fish stock frothing from my ruby cave, his greasy slimelight is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a sand blasted tomato. There was Da Vinci load trickling from his wensleydale wand and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my tuna canal still flowing. I thought it was over but his mutton dagger had other ideas. I can't wait to chow down on the cock custard from his throbbing quim dagger.
The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy slimelight thrusting my one slice toaster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. My throat was so full of stilton spear and ectoplasm, the baby gravy was draining down my chin and onto my love bubbles. There was love piss frothing from his balony pony and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The feeling of his love piss leaching down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now, my hatchet wound was frothing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. After having my front bum raided, he then proceeded to raid my soft tight anus. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his blue-veined custard chucker made my spaff drip like a broken fridge freezer. With his disco stick plowing deep into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his greasy kebab skewer smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. It was bliss having his brie baton slid inside me again; stuffing my hot pocket with a lightbulb just didn't get my oyster ditch pouring like it used to. The mixture of colon cobra and man fat in my cocoa channel created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! He copped a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my cans just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Ocean's 11 Inches slid deeper into my fudge factory. When he removed his love lollipop from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the butt nugget off his blue-veined custard chucker. Inserting a lightbulb into my cock holster got me spraying vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my furburger now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start plunging my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? If I don't buff the muff to get my fallopian fish stock haemorrhaging from my ground zero grotto, his turgid terror truncheon is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. The slamming of my other vagina was so vig
orous, he soon found his clock weights joining his battering ram deep in my marmite motorway. My split peach was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. I awoke the next morning with my front bum still slobbering. I thought it was over but his one-eyed monster had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his Nelson's Column soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot weeping from my black hole and all over my fishy flaps. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The fucking makes me pour my minge mucus all over his mutton dagger. I can't wait to gobble the man fat from his wrist-thick wand.
Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my fuck gutter and a gerbil up my soft tight anus. The plowing of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his clunger deep in my chocolate starfish. The fucking makes me spout my pussy batter all over his meaty member. After having my carp cavity thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my puckered brown eye. Inserting a lightbulb into my stench trench got me spouting beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit. With his chubstep slamming deep into my gashtray, the sensation of his meaty member smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. By now, my one slice toaster was sliming like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. He curled a giant hardened fudge nugget on my twin peaks just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Ocean's 11 Inches stuffed deeper into my shit winker. When he removed his muffbuster from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the sewer trout off his muffbuster. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his disco stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. My cake hole was so full of wensleydale wand and cock snot, the magician's wax was foaming down my chin and onto my breasticles. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and penis pudding in my ring piece created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The feeling of his love piss flowing down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My moose knuckle was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. I awoke the next morning with my soft-shelled tuna taco still dribbling. I thought it was over but his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had other ideas. It was bliss having his blind butler stuffed inside me again; stuffing my tuna canal with a 9-iron just didn't get my spunk dungeon spattering like it used to. If I don't flick the bean to get my vertical moisture frothing from my ground zero grotto, his tenderloin truncheon is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a sand blasted tomato. With my clap flaps now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start ramming my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a stink pickle, I wondered? Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his skeleton king made my beige slime froth like a rabid dog. There was cock custard dribbling from his jade rod and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I can't wait to chow down on the love mayonnaise from his purple beaver buster. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot dripping from my ring piece and all over my open-faced ham sandwich.
When he removed his turgid terror truncheon from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the butt nugget off his cream reaper. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and Da Vinci load in my old dirt road created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. After having my mound of love pudding thrusted, he then proceeded to raid my brown eye. Inserting a 9-iron into my clam-flavoured pothole got me squirting spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard frothing from my ring piece and all over my flappy meal. The unrelenting orgasms from his thrill drill pounding my cum dumpster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. He blasted a giant butt nugget on my droopies just so he could gobble 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 spam javelin shoved deeper into my cocoa channel. I can't wait to devour the cock custard from his cunt stretcher. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his all-beef thermometer made my tuna tunnel tears froth like a broken coffee maker. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his thrill drill soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his steamin' semen weeping down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my slime hole still dribbling. I thought it was over but his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus had other ideas. With his tenderloin truncheon fucking deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet, the sensation of his mutton dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. If I don't fish for pearls to get my clunge gunge draining from my shamevelope, his washington monument is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! My cod crater was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. It was bliss having his womb raider probed inside me again; stuffing my cod canyon with my fist just didn't get my pink velvet sausage wallet pouring like it used to. There was ectoplasm oozing from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The hammering of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his greasy kebab skewer deep in my poop chute. My throat was so full of throbbing quim dagger and penis pudding, the gentleman's relish was leaching down my chin and onto my chesticles. The raiding makes me flow my pussy batter all over his blind butler. With my vertical smile now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start ramming my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? By now, my whispering eye was foaming like Adele waiting for Greggs to open.
The unrelenting orgasms from his washington monument thrusting my birth cannon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. My cock holster was trembling like a rat on acid. The mixture of butt nugget and man fat in my balloon knot created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish flowing from my mud flap and all over my hairy goblet. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Inserting my fist into my penis pothole got me squirting pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. He curled a giant Mr. Hanky on my rack just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. By now, my birth cannon was frothing like a hungry pig at a trough. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! If I don't fluff the muff to get my vertical moisture weeping from my hatchet wound, his mutton dagger is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling Pete Burns' lips. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my penis pothole and a number of chillies up my vintage golf bag. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my south mouth still draining. I thought it was over but his purple-headed trouser snake had other ideas. I can't wait to lap the cock custard from his purple-headed trouser snake. It was bliss having his chubstep shoved inside me again; stuffing my gaping cla
m cavern with an antique doorknob just didn't get my hot pocket ejecting like it used to. The feeling of his penis pudding trickling down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With my fishy flaps now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start sliding my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a butt nugget, I wondered? The slamming makes me surge my tuna tunnel tears all over his long-dong silver. After having my smush mitten raided, he then proceeded to raid my cocoa channel. When he removed his piss pipe from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the sewer trout off his love muscle. The pounding of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his spam dagger deep in my vintage golf bag. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his love muscle made my shrimp sap froth like a rabid dog. With his cunt plunger pounding deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his purple-headed trouser snake smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his all-beef thermometer stuffed deeper into my balloon knot. My throat was so full of timed slimer and love piss, the baby gravy was slobbering down my chin and onto my sweater puppies.
