by Amy Woods
He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. By now, my split peach was haemorrhaging like a broken coffee maker. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! The pounding of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my poop chute. He dropped a giant colon cobra on my rack just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his sperminator soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed milkman fucking my tuna canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. My municipal cockwash was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. There was ectoplasm leaching from his bald avenger and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my wizards sleeve still flowing. I thought it was over but his cream reaper had other ideas. With my lunchmeat now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start shoving my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Inserting an antique doorknob into my enchilada of love got me flowing sex wee faster than snot off a whip. With his wrist-thick wand thrusting deep into my tampon tunnel, the sensation of his long-dong silver smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his veiny quim prod made my pussy batter seep like a leaky tap. 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 cod canyon and my fist up my soft tight anus. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard leaching from my ring piece and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt plunger rammed deeper into my chocolate starfish. If I don't buff the muff to get my flange custard slobbering from my clam-flavoured pothole, his love muscle is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a manatee in yoga pants. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and gentleman's relish in my soft tight anus created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. After having my tuna canal raided, he then proceeded to plow my poo pipe. The feeling of his steamin' semen draining down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. When he removed his veiny quim prod from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the stink pickle off his timed slimer. The plowing makes me splurge my clunge gunge all over his stilton spear. My throat was so full of spam javelin and cock custard, the gentleman's relish was leaking down my chin and onto my tatas. I can't wait to chow down on the love mayonnaise from his wensleydale wand.
Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his jebend made my minge mucus slobber like a slavering dog. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my one slice toaster and a 15" spiked vibrator up my ring piece. I can't wait to suck the cock custard from his gristle missile. When he removed his veiny quim prod from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his pink tractor beam. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Ocean's 11 Inches shoved deeper into my balloon knot. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his ramrod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my vertical garden now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start probing my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a colon cobra, I wondered? By now, my fuck gutter was foaming like a slavering dog. The mixture of colon cobra and cock snot in my cocoa channel created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. There was ectoplasm frothing from his cheese-crusted cock and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! My throat was so full of tallywacker and gentleman's relish, the cock snot was slobbering down my chin and onto my breasticles. My fuck trench was trembling like a shitting dog. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his sperminator plowing my front bum made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. If I don't fish for pearls to get my minge monsoon leaking from my shamevelope, his brie baton is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a shot cat. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load leaching from my poop chute and all over my vertical smile. The feeling of his ectoplasm flowing down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than snot off a whip. After having my soft-shelled tuna taco thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my turd cutter. With his tenderloin truncheon hammering deep into my chlamydia canal, the sensation of his washington monument smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. I awoke the next morning with my ground zero grotto still sliming. I thought it was over but his balony pony had other ideas. He rolled a giant Mr. Hanky on my sweater puppies just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Inserting an egg timer into my kipper dinghy got me ejecting fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The pounding of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his stilton sword deep in my other vagina. It was bliss having his wrist-thick wand slid inside me again; stuffing my vibration station with my fist just didn't get my herring hole splurging like it used to.
My cod crater was trembling like jelly. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my hatchet wound still leaking. I thought it was over but his spunk-filled spam rocket had other ideas. 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 one slice toaster and a gerbil up my rusty sherif's badge. There was ectoplasm flowing from his disco stick and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. My cake hole was so full of chorizo howitzer and penis pudding, the love mayonnaise was oozing down my chin and onto my love bubbles. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb raider slid deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. With his timed slimer hammering deep into my vibrator crater, the sensation of his cumtree smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his purple beaver buster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my cod crater plowed, he then proceeded to slam my fart valve. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald avenger pounding my salmon slit made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his wrist-thick wand made my vertical moisture haemorrhage like a jizz waterfall. By now, my gaping clam cavern was foaming like a broken coffee maker. The fucking of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his tallywacker deep in my Mavis Fritter. The plowing makes me surge my spaff all over his all-beef thermometer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish trickling from my brown mile and all over my lunchmeat. Inserting a lightbulb into my fuck gutter got me spouting vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He extruded a giant toilet twinkie on my boobage just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I can't wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his purple beaver buster. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! The feeling of his steamin' semen oozing down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. If I don't fish for pearls to get my pussy batter frothing from my slime hole, his kebeb skewer is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a manatee in yoga pants. With my hai
ry goblet now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start sliding my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? It was bliss having his bald avenger slid inside me again; stuffing my mound of love pudding with a lightbulb just didn't get my fuck gutter ejecting like it used to. When he removed his jebend from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his battering ram.
The plowing makes me flood my spaff all over his balony pony. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy leaking from my cocoa channel and all over my purple cabbage. He blasted a giant stink pickle on my boobage just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. If I don't tune the tuna to get my clunge gunge flowing from my wunder down under, his meaty member is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a dropped burrito. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his bugger king soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my frilling pink golf bag plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my turd cutter. When he removed his sperminator from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the butt nugget off his womb raider. I awoke the next morning with my vibration station still trickling. I thought it was over but his bald avenger had other ideas. By now, my cod canyon was sliming like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. There was man fat dripping from his love lollipop and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and love piss in my marmite motorway created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb ferret plunged deeper into my old dirt road. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his bald avenger made my pussy batter dribble like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. My sperm socket was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The feeling of his love piss trickling down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The unrelenting orgasms from his wensleydale wand raiding my fuck gutter made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. I can't wait to devour the baby gravy from his battering ram. With his ample cock raiding deep into my slime hole, the sensation of his greasy kebab skewer smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my cum dumpster and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my poop chute. With my purple cabbage now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start ramming my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a colon cobra, I wondered? He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Inserting a squash into my chlamydia canal got me gushing minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel shit. The fucking of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his master of ceremonies deep in my black hole. It was bliss having his spam dagger slid inside me again; stuffing my birth cannon with an antique doorknob just didn't get my salmon slit pouring like it used to.
He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. The feeling of his ectoplasm flowing down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than snot off a whip. With his long-dong silver pounding deep into my ruby cave, the sensation of his womb ferret smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. There was love piss dripping from his veiny quim prod and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his blind butler hammering my smush mitten made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. My mouth was so full of battering ram and magician's wax, the steamin' semen was weeping down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. I awoke the next morning with my furry cup still flowing. I thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas. He pitched a giant butt nugget on my cans just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his spam javelin soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. 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 depravity cavity and a gerbil up my brown mile. With my hairy goblet now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start probing my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a butt nugget, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his piss pipe slid deeper into my balloon knot. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his love lollipop made my spaff weep like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard dribbling from my ring piece and all over my purple cabbage. The mixture of colon cobra and love mayonnaise in my poop chute created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. I can't wait to suck the Da Vinci load from his skin flute. By now, my spunk dungeon was flowing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The plowing makes me eject my vertical moisture all over his piss pipe. The slamming of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his cunt plunger deep in my vintage golf bag. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! When he removed his all-beef thermometer from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the toilet twinkie off his battering ram. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my vibrator crater got me gushing clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My hatchet wound was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. If I don't fluff the muff to get my pussy batter trickling from my shame portal, his tallywacker is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a twisted slipper. It was bliss having his master of ceremonies probed inside me again; stuffing my clearing in the woods with a number of chillies just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet splurging like it used to.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard dripping from my soft tight anus and all over my lunchmeat. If I don't buff the muff to get my minge monsoon draining from my spunk dungeon, his greasy kebab skewer is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a gutted trout. The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod thrusting my herring hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. There was love mayonnaise dripping from his greasy slimelight and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. My throat was so full of cunt stretcher and gentleman's relish, the love mayonnaise was foaming down my chin and onto my chesticles. Inserting a gerbil into my clunge pool got me gushing spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his flesh gordon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his love piss foaming down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My salmon slit was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. After having my fuck gutter plowed, he then proceeded to hammer my vintage golf bag. With his womb ferret raiding deep into my meat purse, the sensation of his huge penis smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. With my panty hamster now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start stuffing my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my sperm socket still seeping. I thought it was over but his meaty member had other ideas. By now, my chamber of squelch was leaching like a slavering dog. When he removed his ke
beb skewer from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the stink pickle off his tenderloin truncheon. The plowing makes me flood my sex wee all over his throbbing quim dagger. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blue-veined custard chucker probed deeper into my fart valve. The mixture of sewer trout and love mayonnaise in my turd-herder created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. He copped a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my mammaries just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. I can't wait to consume the steamin' semen from his muffbuster. The slamming of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his veiny quim prod deep in my Mavis Fritter. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon made my shrimp sap drip like a slug in a salt mine. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my cock holster and a number of chillies up my turd-herder.
