by Amy Woods
The slamming makes me splurge my fallopian fish stock all over his thrill drill. The unrelenting orgasms from his bugger king pounding my Quimcy, M.E. made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skeleton king slid deeper into my tradesman's entrance. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my clam-flavoured pothole and an antique doorknob up my brown mile. By now, my spunk dungeon was leaking like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. With my clap flaps now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start shoving my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? When he removed his blue-veined custard chucker from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the footlong fudge bullet off his spunk-filled spam rocket. There was ectoplasm seeping from his one-eyed monster and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen leaking from my Mavis Fritter and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. My cake hole was so full of long-dong silver and man fat, the ectoplasm was frothing down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his spam dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to suck the ectoplasm from his cunt plunger. It was bliss having his spam javelin rammed inside me again; stuffing my mound of love pudding with a lightbulb just didn't get my split peach squirting like it used to. The feeling of his gentleman's relish draining down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The raiding of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his greasy kebab skewer deep in my puckered brown eye. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his slut slayer made my vertical moisture slobber like a slug in a salt mine. With his jade rod plowing deep into my shame portal, the sensation of his thrill drill smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. If I don't finger blast to get my sex wee haemorrhaging from my clam-flavoured pothole, his flesh gordon is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling Brian May's plughole. He curled a giant Mr. Hanky on my mosquito bites just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I awoke the next morning with my shame portal still trickling. I thought it was over but his throbbing quim dagger had other ideas. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my front bum got me spouting minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel shit. After having my birth cannon hammered, he then proceeded to thrust my shit winker. The mixture of butt nugget and cock custard in my brown eye created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week.
There was Da Vinci load trickling from his bugger king and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his love muscle pounding my vibration station made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. With my vertical garden now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start plunging my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a colon cobra, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my vibration station and an antique doorknob up my fart valve. The mixture of toilet twinkie and love mayonnaise in my old dirt road created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. After having my gammon alley raided, he then proceeded to pound my black hole. My mouth was so full of cunt stretcher and gentleman's relish, the ectoplasm was slobbering down my chin and onto my superdroopers. The thrusting makes me eject my vertical moisture all over his veiny quim prod. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his pink tractor beam plunged deeper into my marmite motorway. When he removed his cheese-crusted cock from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the colon cobra off his pink tractor beam. I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring still leaching. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had other ideas. Inserting a barbie doll into my wizards sleeve got me flowing shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his ample cock made my pussy batter seep like a jizz waterfall. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his jade rod rammed inside me again; stuffing my Quimcy, M.E. with a 9-iron just didn't get my salmon slit pouring like it used to. I can't wait to lap the magician's wax from his throbbing quim dagger. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! By now, my penis pothole was trickling like a hungry pig at a trough. With his clunger raiding deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his one-eyed monster smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his wrist-thick wand soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The slamming of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his balony pony deep in my vintage golf bag. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my fallopian fish stock dripping from my mound of love pudding, his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus is going to leave my spam castanets resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. The feeling of his Da Vinci load sliming down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He pitched a giant Mr. Hanky on my mosquito bites just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load trickling from my brown mile and all over my meaty hangers.
The unrelenting orgasms from his washington monument fucking my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. With his ramrod fucking deep into my municipal cockwash, the sensation of his womb raider smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. It was bliss having his brie baton slid inside me again; stuffing my moose knuckle with a squash just didn't get my mound of love pudding spouting like it used to. After having my slime hole thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my vintage golf bag. The hammering makes me flood my fallopian fish stock all over his clunger. The raiding of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his tenderloin truncheon deep in my Oxo orifice. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his stilton sword made my vertical moisture froth like a slug in a salt mine. He eased out a giant hardened fudge nugget on my boobage just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. When he removed his Nelson's Column from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the sewer trout off his chubstep. I awoke the next morning with my clunge pool still foaming. I thought it was over but his blue-veined custard chucker had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his stilton sword soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The feeling of his creamy load seeping down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. There was creamy load sliming from his skin flute and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. My cake hole was so full of veiny quim prod and man fat, the man fat was foaming down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. By now, my tuna canal was leaking like a George Foreman grill. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my birth cannon and a 15" spiked vibrator up my other vagina. The mixture of sewer trout and ectoplasm in my shit winker created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't get a st
inky pinky to get my spaff draining from my vaginal bacon buffet, his cunt plunger is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tenderloin truncheon probed deeper into my poo pipe. Inserting a gerbil into my chamber of squelch got me splurging pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to devour the Da Vinci load from his blind butler. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a werewolf with it's throat cut, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard foaming from my turd cutter and all over my roast beef platter. My whispering eye was trembling like jelly.
The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and steamin' semen in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. After having my cod canyon fucked, he then proceeded to raid my mud flap. He cut a giant colon cobra on my top bollocks just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. The slamming makes me flood my sex wee all over his devil's bagpipe. It was bliss having his jebend rammed inside me again; stuffing my whispering eye with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my ruby cave spouting like it used to. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! When he removed his stilton sword from my mud flap, 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 skin flute. I can't wait to devour the ectoplasm from his washington monument. With my hairy goblet now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start ramming my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? My mouth was so full of spunk-filled spam rocket and man fat, the cock snot was draining down my chin and onto my boobage. The feeling of his cock snot sliming down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My furry cup was trembling like a rat on acid. There was penis pudding leaking from his cunt plunger and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his spunk-filled spam rocket 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 balony pony probed deeper into my poo pipe. The unrelenting orgasms from his blind butler fucking my cum dumpster made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. By now, my soft-shelled tuna taco was frothing like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my pussy batter haemorrhaging from my cod cave, his jade rod is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a motorway pileup. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my municipal cockwash and a gerbil up my marmite motorway. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my chamber of squelch still flowing. I thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas. Inserting a lightbulb into my shamevelope got me flowing tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his greasy kebab skewer made my pussy batter weep like a jizz waterfall. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm dripping from my Oxo orifice and all over my lunchmeat. The slamming of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his bugger king deep in my other vagina.
After having my cod canyon fucked, he then proceeded to raid my cocoa channel. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. There was baby gravy draining from his one-eyed monster and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. He pinched off a giant toilet twinkie on my twin peaks just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. When he removed his skeleton king from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his wensleydale wand. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his skin flute soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his master of ceremonies made my pussy batter dribble like a rabid dog. My mouth was so full of wensleydale wand and penis pudding, the love piss was frothing down my chin and onto my superdroopers. By now, my gaping clam cavern was dripping like a rabid dog. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! The pounding of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his skeleton king deep in my turd cutter. I awoke the next morning with my bearded haddock pasty still dripping. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. The feeling of his gentleman's relish sliming down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The mixture of stink pickle and cock snot in my Oxo orifice created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load dripping from my rusty bullet hole and all over my spam castanets. I can't wait to chow down on the Da Vinci load from his womb ferret. It was bliss having his huge penis plunged inside me again; stuffing my cod canyon with a barbie doll just didn't get my ladytown surging like it used to. My wunder down under was trembling like a rat on acid. Inserting a 9-iron into my ruby cave got me splurging vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The fucking makes me pour my fallopian fish stock all over his chubstep. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his kebeb skewer stuffed deeper into my rusty bullet hole. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my chlamydia canal and a lightbulb up my ring piece. The unrelenting orgasms from his vein cane plowing my smush mitten made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my tuna tunnel tears dribbling from my meat purse, his vein cane is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a clown's pocket. With his one-eyed monster pounding deep into my calamari cockring, the sensation of his spunk-filled spam rocket smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly.
Inserting an egg timer into my meat purse got me pouring beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his one-eyed monster plunged deeper into my old dirt road. I awoke the next morning with my municipal cockwash still foaming. I thought it was over but his greasy kebab skewer had other ideas. My cod cave was trembling like jelly. The mixture of butt nugget and cock snot in my brown mile created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his muffbuster plowing my birth cannon made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his flesh gordon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his cumtree from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the corn-eyed butt snake off his sperminator. The thrusting of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his greasy kebab skewer deep in my poo pipe. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding dribbling from my black hole and all over my spam castanets. He extruded a giant toilet twinkie on my mosquito bites just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. The feeling of his magician's wax seeping down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. With my beef curtains now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start probing my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? With his pink tractor beam raiding deep into my slime hole, the sensation of his tenderloin truncheon smashing my cervix made me quake like a
tasered slab of chopped liver. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus made my clunge gunge foam like a George Foreman grill. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my minge monsoon foaming from my whispering eye, his bald avenger is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. After having my slime hole hammered, he then proceeded to fuck my mud flap. My mouth was so full of vein cane and love mayonnaise, the man fat was leaching down my chin and onto my droopies. The pounding makes me pour my pussy batter all over his one-eyed milkman. There was cock snot dripping from his wensleydale wand and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. I can't wait to consume the creamy load from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. By now, my clunge pool was oozing like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my cod canyon and a lightbulb up my marmite motorway. It was bliss having his clunger rammed inside me again; stuffing my cum dumpster with a squash just didn't get my salmon slit gushing like it used to.
It was bliss having his one-eyed monster probed inside me again; stuffing my bearded haddock pasty with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my whispering eye flooding like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my spunk dungeon still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. I can't wait to chow down on the steamin' semen from his tallywacker. With my flappy meal now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start probing my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a stink pickle, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my ladytown and an antique doorknob up my rusty bullet hole. My mouth was so full of womb ferret and creamy load, the magician's wax was trickling down my chin and onto my mammaries. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and cock custard in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He crowned a giant colon cobra on my mosquito bites just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his blue-veined custard chucker soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! The slamming of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his washington monument deep in my ring piece. With his spam dagger slamming deep into my spunk dungeon, the sensation of his chorizo howitzer smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. My depravity cavity was trembling like a shitting dog. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his tenderloin truncheon made my minge mucus leak like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger slamming my cum dumpster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The feeling of his ectoplasm leaking down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. When he removed his veiny quim prod from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his one-eyed milkman. After having my clam-flavoured pothole slammed, he then proceeded to slam my rusty bullet hole. Inserting an antique doorknob into my wizards sleeve got me ejecting minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. There was baby gravy draining from his flesh gordon and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The thrusting makes me surge my minge mucus all over his one-eyed monster. By now, my moose knuckle was flowing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard sliming from my balloon knot and all over my beef curtains. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his flesh gordon slid deeper into my Oxo orifice.
