by Amy Woods
The fucking makes me pour my minge monsoon all over his stilton sword. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his veiny quim prod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and creamy load in my poop chute created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The feeling of his cock snot haemorrhaging down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My shamevelope was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. When he removed his tenderloin truncheon from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his slut slayer. After having my birth cannon plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my Oxo orifice. 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 lightbulb in my clearing in the woods and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my tradesman's entrance. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his purple-headed trouser snake rammed deeper into my poop chute. I can't wait to devour the man fat from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. By now, my clunge pool was sliming like a jizz waterfall. With his blind butler pounding deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his brie baton made my minge monsoon weep like a George Foreman grill. It was bliss having his timed slimer plunged inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my ladytown spattering like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed milkman thrusting my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm sliming from my turd-herder and all over my roast beef platter. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. There was love mayonnaise haemorrhaging from his gristle missile and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. My cake hole was so full of eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and cock snot, the magician's wax was dripping down my chin and onto my boobage. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my vibration station got me flowing sex wee faster than snot off a whip. With my beef curtains now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start ramming my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my shame portal still slobbering. I thought it was over but his tenderloin truncheon had other ideas. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my vertical moisture leaching from my sperm socket, his stilton spear is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a manatee in yoga pants. The pounding of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his disco stick deep in my brown mile.
I can't wait to lap the cock custard from his bald avenger. It was bliss having his jebend slid inside me again; stuffing my ground zero grotto with a 9-iron just didn't get my gammon alley splurging like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his pink tractor beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my lunchmeat now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start shoving my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? After having my frilling pink golf bag thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my cocoa channel. With his stilton spear slamming deep into my Quimcy, M.E., the sensation of his cumtree smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his spunk-filled spam rocket plowing my furry cup made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The feeling of his baby gravy slobbering down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his mutton dagger made my vertical moisture drip like a broken fridge freezer. There was ectoplasm seeping from his love muscle and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. By now, my chamber of squelch was weeping like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. He launched a giant Mr. Hanky on my superdroopers just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. The fucking of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon deep in my other vagina. My cake hole was so full of balony pony and steamin' semen, the steamin' semen was sliming down my chin and onto my droopies. When he removed his purple-headed trouser snake from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the hardened fudge nugget off his love lollipop. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen sliming from my turd-herder and all over my vertical garden. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my depravity cavity and a number of chillies up my turd cutter. My clunge pool was trembling like a shitting dog. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and steamin' semen in my black hole created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my flange custard frothing from my south mouth, his blue-veined custard chucker is going to leave my beef curtains resembling that bathroom door in The Shining. Inserting a barbie doll into my slime hole got me spritzing fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. The thrusting makes me surge my spaff all over his pink tractor beam. I awoke the next morning with my south mouth still trickling. 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 cheese-crusted cock plunged deeper into my mud flap.
Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his brie baton made my clunge gunge foam like a leaky tap. My cake hole was so full of tallywacker and gentleman's relish, the steamin' semen was dripping down my chin and onto my chest puppies. It was bliss having his bald-headed yogurt slinger stuffed inside me again; stuffing my fuck gutter with a 9-iron just didn't get my gammon alley spritzing like it used to. There was gentleman's relish slobbering from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his wensleydale wand hammering my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! 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 vaginal bacon buffet and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my soft tight anus. The plowing makes me pour my pussy batter all over his ramrod. With my flappy meal now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start shoving my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my stench trench still frothing. I thought it was over but his one-eyed milkman had other ideas. The feeling of his penis pudding haemorrhaging down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. With his kebeb skewer thrusting deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his bugger king smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. Inserting a 9-iron into my birth cannon got me spritzing beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit. After having my gashtray plowed, he then proceeded to plow my fudge factory. The mixture of toilet twinkie and cock custard in my chocolate starfish created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The hammering of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his stilton sword deep in my marmite motorway. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my
clunge gunge frothing from my chamber of squelch, his timed slimer is going to leave my spam castanets resembling a twisted slipper. My gashtray was trembling like jelly. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his muffbuster stuffed deeper into my black hole. When he removed his slut slayer from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the hardened fudge nugget off his one-eyed milkman. By now, my cum dumpster was sliming like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his womb ferret soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He copped a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my chest puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I can't wait to gobble the Da Vinci load from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon.
After having my gaping clam cavern thrusted, he then proceeded to hammer my ring piece. The mixture of colon cobra and ectoplasm in my mud flap created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. My clunge pool was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his devil's bagpipe 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 mutton dagger plunged deeper into my poop chute. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. The feeling of his magician's wax flowing down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my gashtray still trickling. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. With my spam castanets now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start ramming my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? My mouth was so full of wrist-thick wand and penis pudding, the gentleman's relish was seeping down my chin and onto my love bubbles. I can't wait to gobble the penis pudding from his blind butler. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my split peach and a barbie doll up my Mavis Fritter. The slamming of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his spam dagger deep in my brown eye. By now, my tampon tunnel was leaking like a slavering dog. When he removed his greasy kebab skewer from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the sewer trout off his sperminator. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his batter blaster made my pussy batter dribble like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Inserting an antique doorknob into my kipper dinghy got me spouting sex wee faster than snot off a whip. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my beige slime weeping from my hot pocket, his spunk-filled spam rocket is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling an over inflated dinghy. The fucking makes me gush my spaff all over his disco stick. With his clunger pounding deep into my fuck trench, the sensation of his chorizo howitzer smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! He rolled a giant Mr. Hanky on my mammaries just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. There was creamy load leaking from his wensleydale wand and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot trickling from my soft tight anus and all over my vertical garden. It was bliss having his stilton sword slid inside me again; stuffing my split peach with a lightbulb just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet flooding like it used to.
The feeling of his penis pudding frothing down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The fucking of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his love muscle deep in my turd cutter. The unrelenting orgasms from his spunk-filled spam rocket plowing my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. There was Da Vinci load draining from his Ocean's 11 Inches and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt stretcher stuffed deeper into my black hole. The plowing makes me flow my fallopian fish stock all over his bugger king. My vaginal bacon buffet was trembling like a rat on acid. When he removed his turgid terror truncheon from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his womb raider. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his skin flute made my beige slime flow like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my south mouth and a 15" spiked vibrator up my black hole. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my south mouth got me ejecting minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. With his disco stick fucking deep into my soft-shelled tuna taco, the sensation of his flesh gordon smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! By now, my spunk dungeon was dribbling like a jizz waterfall. After having my cock holster fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my marmite motorway. With my vertical garden now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start stuffing my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? My cake hole was so full of cumtree and magician's wax, the love mayonnaise was trickling down my chin and onto my cans. He dropped a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my cans just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and magician's wax in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my south mouth still trickling. I thought it was over but his skeleton king had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his master of ceremonies soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to lap the cock custard from his cream reaper. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen leaking from my brown mile and all over my flappy meal. It was bliss having his Ocean's 11 Inches slid inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my pink velvet sausage wallet spattering like it used to. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my tuna tunnel tears leaking from my front bum, his bald-headed yogurt slinger is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a darts team's goalkeeper.
It was bliss having his cumtree probed inside me again; stuffing my chamber of squelch with an antique doorknob just didn't get my tuna canal flooding like it used to. The mixture of sewer trout and steamin' semen in my brown eye created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his kebeb skewer 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 batter blaster plunged deeper into my marmite motorway. 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 lightbulb in my clearing in the woods and an egg timer up my soft tight anus. With his piss pipe thrusting deep into my slime hole, the sensation of his spam dagger smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He eased out a giant toilet twinkie on my fiery biscuits just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My shame portal was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Inserting a barbie doll into my split peach got me splurging flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his bugger king made my minge mucus drip like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. If I don't tune the tuna to get my clunge gunge sliming from my sperm socket, his purple beaver buster is going to leave my roast beef platter rese
mbling a stuntman's knee. The thrusting of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his cunt stretcher deep in my brown eye. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! After having my bearded haddock pasty plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my Oxo orifice. There was ectoplasm weeping from his turgid terror truncheon and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. The feeling of his magician's wax leaking down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. With my piss flaps now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start stuffing my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a butt nugget, I wondered? My cake hole was so full of battering ram and cock snot, the ectoplasm was sliming down my chin and onto my mammaries. I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring still foaming. I thought it was over but his clunger had other ideas. When he removed his ramrod from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the sewer trout off his timed slimer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax trickling from my turd-herder and all over my hairy goblet. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam javelin slamming my whispering eye made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. By now, my calamari cockring was dribbling like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. The pounding makes me surge my flange custard all over his spunk-filled spam rocket.
