by Amy Woods
I can't wait to lap the magician's wax from his batter blaster. With my vertical smile now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start probing my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his purple beaver buster shoved deeper into my shit winker. When he removed his meaty member from my Oxo orifice, 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 purple-headed trouser snake. By now, my shamevelope was haemorrhaging like a broken coffee maker. My bearded haddock pasty was trembling like a rat on acid. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his spam dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The fucking makes me spray my spaff all over his kebeb skewer. If I don't play the clitar to get my flange custard sliming from my front bum, his womb raider is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a manatee in yoga pants. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his timed slimer fucking my calamari cockring made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. I awoke the next morning with my carp cavity still frothing. I thought it was over but his muffbuster had other ideas. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my birth cannon got me spritzing minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load trickling from my Oxo orifice and all over my meaty hangers. The slamming of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his cunt stretcher deep in my turd-herder. The feeling of his baby gravy foaming down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. It was bliss having his jade rod plunged inside me again; stuffing my one slice toaster with a gerbil just didn't get my tampon tunnel spouting like it used to. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my clunge pool and a 9-iron up my brown eye. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his cheese-crusted cock made my pussy batter slobber like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! He curled a giant stink pickle on my chesticles just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. There was cock custard dripping from his purple-headed trouser snake and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. My cake hole was so full of batter blaster and cock custard, the Da Vinci load was dripping down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. The mixture of toilet twinkie and man fat in my fudge factory created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With his slut slayer raiding deep into my penis pothole, the sensation of his battering ram smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert.
When he removed his wrist-thick wand from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the stink pickle off his love lollipop. There was magician's wax weeping from his thrill drill and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. After having my salmon slit plowed, he then proceeded to slam my balloon knot. My ladytown was trembling like jelly. By now, my fuck trench was dripping like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The feeling of his creamy load haemorrhaging down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. Inserting an antique doorknob into my cod canyon got me gushing sex wee faster than snot off a whip. I can't wait to gobble the cock snot from his skin flute. With his one-eyed milkman hammering deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his greasy slimelight smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The plowing makes me eject my pussy batter all over his stilton spear. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax draining from my brown eye and all over my meaty hangers. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his purple beaver buster made my sex wee haemorrhage like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. My throat was so full of pink tractor beam and Da Vinci load, the man fat was oozing down my chin and onto my cans. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his bugger king soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my tuna tunnel tears sliming from my slime hole, his pink tractor beam is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger hammering my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. It was bliss having his muffbuster slid inside me again; stuffing my clunge pool with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my slime hole spritzing like it used to. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a werewolf with it's throat cut, and I was no different! The slamming of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon deep in my marmite motorway. He copped a giant butt nugget on my love bubbles just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam javelin probed deeper into my brown mile. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my vaginal bacon buffet and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my Oxo orifice. I awoke the next morning with my bearded haddock pasty still leaching. I thought it was over but his huge penis had other ideas. With my roast beef platter now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start ramming my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered?
When he removed his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the footlong fudge bullet off his timed slimer. The unrelenting orgasms from his devil's bagpipe slamming my stench trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my frilling pink golf bag and a lightbulb up my shit winker. Inserting an antique doorknob into my meat purse got me spritzing fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. By now, my ladytown was seeping like a George Foreman grill. With his brie baton fucking deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard dribbling from my cocoa channel and all over my fishy flaps. If I don't play the clitar to get my vertical moisture frothing from my split peach, his jade rod is going to leave my panty hamster resembling the Japanese flag. My throat was so full of purple beaver buster and gentleman's relish, the love piss was leaking down my chin and onto my cans. With my panty hamster now much like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start stuffing my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a toilet twinkie, I wondered? He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and creamy load in my soft tight anus created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. There was penis pudding trickling from his timed slimer and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! My tuna canal was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The fucking makes me spray my tuna tunnel tears all over his meaty member. I can't wait to chow down on the Da Vinci load from his pink tractor beam
. The hammering of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his giggle stick deep in my poo pipe. The feeling of his penis pudding flowing down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my clearing in the woods still foaming. I thought it was over but his cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. He arced a giant butt nugget on my mammaries just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. After having my slime hole plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my marmite motorway. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his brie baton slid deeper into my tradesman's entrance. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his love muscle made my tuna tunnel tears foam like a broken coffee maker.
The hammering of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his huge penis deep in my black hole. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his giggle stick slid deeper into my mud flap. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his all-beef thermometer made my beige slime leak like a broken fridge freezer. I awoke the next morning with my split peach still foaming. I thought it was over but his master of ceremonies had other ideas. My chamber of squelch was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. After having my Quimcy, M.E. fucked, he then proceeded to pound my mud flap. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my carp cavity and an antique doorknob up my Mavis Fritter. My cake hole was so full of cheese-crusted cock and man fat, the love piss was dribbling down my chin and onto my rack. It was bliss having his blind butler shoved inside me again; stuffing my cum dumpster with a 9-iron just didn't get my tampon tunnel surging like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his batter blaster slamming my furry cup made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. The mixture of toilet twinkie and penis pudding in my marmite motorway created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The feeling of his steamin' semen trickling down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. If I don't buff the muff to get my flange custard slobbering from my wizards sleeve, his veiny quim prod is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a twisted slipper. The hammering makes me squirt my pussy batter all over his cunt plunger. By now, my ladytown was oozing like a broken fridge freezer. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his spam javelin soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to gobble the cock snot from his skin flute. With my purple cabbage now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start probing my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a stink pickle, I wondered? There was penis pudding seeping from his spunk-filled spam rocket and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! He rolled a giant footlong fudge bullet on my twin peaks just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise oozing from my mud flap and all over my panty hamster. With his balony pony plowing deep into my carp cavity, the sensation of his disco stick smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Inserting an antique doorknob into my whispering eye got me spouting clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
By now, my wizards sleeve was seeping like a rabid dog. The fucking of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his spam dagger deep in my mud flap. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load foaming from my puckered brown eye and all over my spam castanets. With his piss pipe plowing deep into my enchilada of love, the sensation of his throbbing quim dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The hammering makes me gush my minge mucus all over his brie baton. 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 15" spiked vibrator in my shame portal and a squash up my marmite motorway. After having my hatchet wound raided, he then proceeded to slam my turd-herder. There was love piss dripping from his blind butler and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. I can't wait to consume the steamin' semen from his skeleton king. He crowned a giant hardened fudge nugget on my fiery biscuits just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole still leaking. I thought it was over but his cunt stretcher had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his spam javelin soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my flange custard frothing from my hot pocket, his jade rod is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a horse's collar. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my municipal cockwash got me spritzing clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My cake hole was so full of cunt plunger and love mayonnaise, the cock snot was draining down my chin and onto my top bollocks. With my fishy flaps now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start stuffing my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? It was bliss having his thrill drill stuffed inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with my fist just didn't get my cock holster ejecting like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam javelin slamming my tampon tunnel made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. When he removed his spam dagger from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his wrist-thick wand. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his wrist-thick wand made my vertical moisture trickle like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. My tuna canal was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The feeling of his baby gravy draining down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and creamy load in my fudge factory created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of.
Inserting my fist into my moose knuckle got me spattering clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My cake hole was so full of long-dong silver and gentleman's relish, the cock custard was slobbering down my chin and onto my love bubbles. The plowing makes me flow my vertical moisture all over his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The hammering of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his washington monument deep in my poop chute. It was bliss having his stilton spear shoved inside me again; stuffing my one slice toaster with a 9-iron just didn't get my herring hole spattering like it used to. I can't wait to devour the magician's wax from his blind butler. The unrelenting orgasms from his love lollipop fucking my stench trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. I awoke the next morning with my herring hole still flowing. I thought it was over but his devil's bagpipe had other ideas. After having my carp cavity fucked, he then proceeded to plow my brown mile. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his ramrod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My smush mitten was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. 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 wizards sleeve and a gerbil up my fudge factory. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his battering ram slid deeper into my other va
gina. If I don't fluff the muff to get my fallopian fish stock dribbling from my vibration station, his flesh gordon is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. With my piss flaps now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start shoving my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his turgid terror truncheon made my tuna tunnel tears drip like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. He curled a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my twin peaks just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. There was cock snot frothing from his greasy kebab skewer and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. With his bugger king raiding deep into my meat purse, the sensation of his womb raider smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise dripping from my fart valve and all over my flappy meal. When he removed his thrill drill from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the stink pickle off his long-dong silver. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and cock custard in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The feeling of his baby gravy leaching down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.
