by Amy Woods
It was bliss having his love muscle stuffed inside me again; stuffing my vibration station with an antique doorknob just didn't get my cod canyon ejecting like it used to. The mixture of butt nugget and love piss in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my cod cave and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my old dirt road. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his mutton dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding weeping from my Mavis Fritter and all over my meaty hangers. There was creamy load frothing from his disco stick and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his master of ceremonies raiding my one slice toaster made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. If I don't flick the bean to get my spaff seeping from my ruby cave, his wrist-thick wand is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a stamped bat. He blasted a giant stink pickle on my rack just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting a barbie doll into my carp cavity got me splurging vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My stench trench was trembling 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 slut slayer stuffed deeper into my fudge factory. The fucking of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his meaty member deep in my marmite motorway. I can't wait to devour the steamin' semen from his slut slayer. With my furburger now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start probing my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a colon cobra, I wondered? Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! By now, my stench trench was haemorrhaging like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his jebend made my vertical moisture drip like a George Foreman grill. With his turgid terror truncheon plowing deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his jebend smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. The feeling of his cock custard weeping down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my hot pocket still dribbling. I thought it was over but his disco stick had other ideas. After having my gashtray slammed, he then proceeded to pound my poo pipe. The plowing makes me pour my sex wee all over his tallywacker. When he removed his balony pony from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the footlong fudge bullet off his cumtree.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy trickling from my turd-herder and all over my piss flaps. It was bliss having his blind butler plunged inside me again; stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with an egg timer just didn't get my Quimcy, M.E. flooding like it used to. When he removed his master of ceremonies from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his skin flute. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! With my lunchmeat now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start sliding my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a colon cobra, I wondered? My shamevelope was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. With his piss pipe slamming deep into my clunge pool, the sensation of his all-beef thermometer smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Inserting a 9-iron into my vibration station got me ejecting vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his battering ram made my flange custard flow like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his batter blaster slid deeper into my fart valve. My cake hole was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and cock custard, the ectoplasm was foaming down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger fucking my penis pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his steamin' semen leaching down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was love mayonnaise frothing from his purple-headed trouser snake and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my clunge pool still flowing. I thought it was over but his greasy slimelight had other ideas. If I don't fluff the muff to get my vertical moisture sliming from my clam-flavoured pothole, his devil's bagpipe is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. The plowing makes me spit my shrimp sap all over his greasy slimelight. After having my cum dumpster raided, he then proceeded to hammer my shit winker. He rolled a giant hardened fudge nugget on my tatas just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't wait to lap the ectoplasm from his Nelson's Column. By now, my wizards sleeve was leaching like a slavering dog. The thrusting of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his muffbuster deep in my rusty bullet hole. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. 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 mound of love pudding and a 15" spiked vibrator up my brown mile.
With my purple cabbage now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start stuffing my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his mutton dagger hammering my gammon alley made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. There was cock custard dripping from his disco stick and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. My mouth was so full of turgid terror truncheon and man fat, the creamy load was seeping down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my furry cup and a barbie doll up my ring piece. The feeling of his baby gravy sliming down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my fuck trench thrusted, he then proceeded to plow my other vagina. He cut a giant Mr. Hanky on my rack just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With his turgid terror truncheon pounding deep into my salmon slit, the sensation of his cervix cigar smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. The raiding makes me eject my spaff all over his Nelson's Column. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. By now, my clunge pool was oozing like a leaky tap. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax trickling from my balloon knot and all over my clap flaps. I awoke the next morning with my hot pocket still dribbling. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand had other ideas. It was bliss having his spam javelin probed inside me again; stuffing my front bum with my fist just didn't get my vibration station spraying like it used to. If I don't flick the bean to get my shrimp sap oozing from my depravity cavity, his bald-headed yogurt slinger is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a badly wrapped kebab. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot 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 disco stick shoved deeper into my turd cutter. I can't wait to lap the love mayonnaise from his bald avenger. Now, I've seen m
ore helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his blue-veined custard chucker made my tuna tunnel tears foam like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Inserting an egg timer into my hot pocket got me spouting sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. My tuna canal was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. When he removed his cervix cigar from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the footlong fudge bullet off his balony pony. The hammering of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his pink tractor beam deep in my poop chute.
The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't finger blast to get my clunge gunge leaching from my south mouth, his giggle stick is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a twisted slipper. The unrelenting orgasms from his wensleydale wand raiding my depravity cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. With my vertical garden now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start ramming my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my birth cannon and a gerbil up my marmite motorway. I awoke the next morning with my hatchet wound still sliming. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had other ideas. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his meaty member made my clunge gunge haemorrhage like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. I can't wait to lap the love mayonnaise from his huge penis. The feeling of his steamin' semen leaking down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. It was bliss having his stilton spear stuffed inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with an antique doorknob just didn't get my pink velvet sausage wallet surging like it used to. There was man fat slobbering from his bald avenger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. After having my bearded haddock pasty raided, he then proceeded to slam my vintage golf bag. By now, my cod canyon was dripping like a jizz waterfall. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot dripping from my turd cutter and all over my piss flaps. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and love piss in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Inserting my fist into my hot pocket got me pouring minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his chorizo howitzer probed deeper into my fudge factory. My carp cavity was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! With his greasy slimelight fucking deep into my vibration station, the sensation of his spam javelin smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. My mouth was so full of meaty member and creamy load, the baby gravy was seeping down my chin and onto my rack. The pounding of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his giggle stick deep in my brown eye. He eased out a giant hardened fudge nugget on my top bollocks just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. When he removed his clunger from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his chorizo howitzer.
With his tallywacker pounding deep into my cum dumpster, the sensation of his kebeb skewer smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. My throat was so full of wensleydale wand and love piss, the gentleman's relish was seeping down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. My penis pothole was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. If I don't play the clitar to get my fallopian fish stock frothing from my gashtray, his slut slayer is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his purple beaver buster slid deeper into my poo pipe. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his skin flute soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his magician's wax draining down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was love piss sliming from his spam javelin and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Inserting a squash into my penis pothole got me spraying pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard draining from my chocolate starfish and all over my piss flaps. I can't wait to consume the steamin' semen from his love muscle. It was bliss having his slut slayer stuffed inside me again; stuffing my birth cannon with an antique doorknob just didn't get my ladytown flooding like it used to. By now, my stench trench was weeping like a broken coffee maker. With my fishy flaps now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start ramming my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a stink pickle, I wondered? After having my vaginal bacon buffet raided, he then proceeded to slam my turd-herder. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! The slamming makes me surge my shrimp sap all over his kebeb skewer. I awoke the next morning with my depravity cavity still leaking. I thought it was over but his kebeb skewer had other ideas. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and cock custard in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He crowned a giant butt nugget on my love bubbles just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his gristle missile made my minge monsoon dribble like a George Foreman grill. The raiding of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his flesh gordon deep in my chocolate starfish. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald avenger plowing my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. When he removed his throbbing quim dagger from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the colon cobra off his Nelson's Column.
Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my depravity cavity got me squirting spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He dropped a giant Mr. Hanky on my sweater puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My mouth was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and man fat, the magician's wax was weeping down my chin and onto my breasticles. It was bliss having his tenderloin truncheon slid inside me again; stuffing my quim with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my moose knuckle spattering like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his turgid terror truncheon probed deeper into my vintage golf bag. My cum dumpster was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his timed slimer made my flange custard drip like a broken fridge freezer. With my flappy meal now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start ramming my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a colon cobra, I wondered? There was Da Vinci load sliming from his greasy slimelight and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his flesh gordon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to suck the man fat from his womb ferret. By now, my chamber of squelch was oozing like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The fucking makes me spit my beige slime all over his blind butler. If I don't strum the banjo to get my shrimp sap haemorrhaging from my clam-flavoured pothole, his skin flute is going to leave my vertical smile resemblin
g an over inflated dinghy. 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 slime hole and a squash up my tradesman's entrance. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and ectoplasm in my brown mile created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The feeling of his ectoplasm sliming down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my south mouth still foaming. I thought it was over but his chorizo howitzer had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile slamming my ladytown made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish oozing from my ring piece and all over my purple cabbage. The pounding of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his giggle stick deep in my other vagina. After having my cum dumpster raided, he then proceeded to fuck my marmite motorway. When he removed his mutton dagger 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 consume the corn-eyed butt snake off his bald-headed yogurt slinger.
