by Amy Woods
The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile plowing my quim made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his love lollipop soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his battering ram from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the colon cobra off his greasy slimelight. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his balony pony plunged deeper into my chocolate starfish. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. My bearded haddock pasty was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. I can't wait to devour the love piss from his slut slayer. My throat was so full of eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and love piss, the ectoplasm was slobbering down my chin and onto my chesticles. There was steamin' semen seeping from his skin flute and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Inserting an antique doorknob into my spunk dungeon got me flowing minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. With my beef curtains now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a colon cobra, I wondered? If I don't tune the tuna to get my vertical moisture slobbering from my stench trench, his cumtree is going to leave my spam castanets resembling the Japanese flag. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his jade rod made my vertical moisture drip like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my moose knuckle and an antique doorknob up my fudge factory. By now, my split peach was seeping like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. After having my salmon slit thrusted, he then proceeded to hammer my chocolate starfish. I awoke the next morning with my hot pocket still foaming. I thought it was over but his vein cane had other ideas. It was bliss having his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus plunged inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with a number of chillies just didn't get my cum dumpster squirting like it used to. The hammering makes me spritz my flange custard all over his bugger king. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! The feeling of his ectoplasm foaming down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise trickling from my marmite motorway and all over my fishy flaps. The plowing of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his washington monument deep in my black hole. With his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon hammering deep into my vibrator crater, the sensation of his stilton spear smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. The mixture of colon cobra and love piss in my marmite motorway created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of.
My split peach was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The pounding of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus deep in my mud flap. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Nelson's Column shoved deeper into my poop chute. The mixture of colon cobra and ectoplasm in my old dirt road created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Inserting a 9-iron into my gaping clam cavern got me spattering tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The slamming makes me flow my beige slime all over his muffbuster. After having my stench trench plowed, he then proceeded to plow my black hole. 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 clunge pool and an antique doorknob up my turd cutter. By now, my cod crater was dribbling like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. I can't wait to consume the magician's wax from his Ocean's 11 Inches. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! With his greasy slimelight raiding deep into my meat purse, the sensation of his skin flute smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He rolled a giant colon cobra on my rack just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I awoke the next morning with my vibrator crater still draining. I thought it was over but his devil's bagpipe had other ideas. With my beef curtains now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start shoving my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a sewer trout, I wondered? He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his cunt plunger slamming my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load foaming from my marmite motorway and all over my flappy meal. There was creamy load dripping from his bugger king and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my vertical moisture flowing from my moose knuckle, his jebend is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a motorway pileup. The feeling of his baby gravy weeping down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his battering ram made my spaff slobber like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. It was bliss having his love muscle probed inside me again; stuffing my Quimcy, M.E. with a lightbulb just didn't get my tuna canal flowing like it used to. My throat was so full of mutton dagger and baby gravy, the penis pudding was sliming down my chin and onto my cans. When he removed his long-dong silver from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the hardened fudge nugget off his spunk-filled spam rocket.
I can't wait to devour the magician's wax from his skeleton king. I awoke the next morning with my furry cup still sliming. I thought it was over but his slut slayer had other ideas. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon plunged deeper into my Mavis Fritter. The unrelenting orgasms from his womb raider fucking my hatchet wound made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. When he removed his cunt stretcher from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the colon cobra off his blue-veined custard chucker. After having my tampon tunnel plowed, he then proceeded to pound my fudge factory. The pounding of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his Nelson's Column deep in my poop chute. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. The feeling of his Da Vinci load foaming down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip. If I don't strum the banjo to get my fallopian fish stock seeping from my spunk dungeon, his spam javelin is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and creamy load in my brown mile created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The raiding makes me spritz my spaff all over his womb ferret. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load foaming from my black hole and all over my piss flaps. It was bliss having his piss pipe plunged inside me again; stuffing my calamari cockring with my fist just didn't get my municipal cockwash spritzing like it used to. Inserting a gerbil into my front bum got me flooding fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. 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 fuck gutter and a 15" spiked vibrator up my vintage golf bag. There was penis pudding sliming from
his throbbing quim dagger and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. He cut a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my chesticles just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his bald avenger made my flange custard leak like a broken coffee maker. By now, my cock holster was flowing like a broken fridge freezer. With his cream reaper thrusting deep into my meat purse, the sensation of his ample cock smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. With my flappy meal now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start shoving my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a stink pickle, I wondered? My throat was so full of spunk-filled spam rocket and magician's wax, the love mayonnaise was flowing down my chin and onto my rack.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tenderloin truncheon slid deeper into my other vagina. I awoke the next morning with my ruby cave still trickling. I thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas. When he removed his bald avenger from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the Mr. Hanky off his piss pipe. With his pink tractor beam thrusting deep into my split peach, the sensation of his greasy kebab skewer smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. There was cock snot frothing from his cunt plunger and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. My mouth was so full of spam javelin and creamy load, the ectoplasm was dribbling down my chin and onto my love bubbles. He arced a giant colon cobra on my mosquito bites just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. The thrusting makes me spritz my clunge gunge all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat slobbering from my marmite motorway and all over my fishy flaps. The unrelenting orgasms from his cunt stretcher thrusting my municipal cockwash made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his one-eyed milkman made my sex wee ooze like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Inserting an egg timer into my bearded haddock pasty got me squirting clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. My calamari cockring was trembling like a shitting dog. It was bliss having his bugger king slid inside me again; stuffing my one slice toaster with a lightbulb just didn't get my tampon tunnel splurging like it used to. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my tuna tunnel tears oozing from my mound of love pudding, his throbbing quim dagger is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a gutted trout. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my ground zero grotto and a 15" spiked vibrator up my Oxo orifice. The feeling of his cock snot haemorrhaging down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! I can't wait to suck the steamin' semen from his washington monument. By now, my sperm socket was trickling like a rabid dog. The pounding of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his bugger king deep in my poop chute. After having my Quimcy, M.E. slammed, he then proceeded to pound my chocolate starfish. With my piss flaps now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start ramming my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his sperminator soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his womb ferret soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to lap the penis pudding from his giggle stick. It was bliss having his one-eyed monster rammed inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my front bum spattering like it used to. By now, my quim was weeping like a jizz waterfall. The fucking of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his tenderloin truncheon deep in my brown mile. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my furry cup and a 15" spiked vibrator up my other vagina. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish leaching from my vintage golf bag and all over my vertical smile. I awoke the next morning with my tampon tunnel still slobbering. I thought it was over but his one-eyed milkman had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword slamming my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. My hatchet wound was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his long-dong silver plunged deeper into my shit winker. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start sliding my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a stink pickle, I wondered? He extruded a giant footlong fudge bullet on my top bollocks just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. With his ramrod raiding deep into my spunk dungeon, the sensation of his throbbing quim dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. There was ectoplasm weeping from his greasy kebab skewer and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. My throat was so full of cream reaper and love mayonnaise, the love mayonnaise was leaking down my chin and onto my cans. The mixture of toilet twinkie and cock snot in my mud flap created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his pink tractor beam made my beige slime seep like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. After having my salmon slit slammed, he then proceeded to slam my black hole. Inserting a 9-iron into my fuck trench got me spritzing flange custard faster than snot off a whip. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The feeling of his cock snot flowing down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. If I don't fish for pearls to get my vertical moisture seeping from my mound of love pudding, his womb ferret is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a stamped bat. When he removed his love lollipop from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the hardened fudge nugget off his long-dong silver.
After having my ruby cave hammered, he then proceeded to slam my fudge factory. The plowing makes me spit my tuna tunnel tears all over his womb raider. My throat was so full of cream reaper and creamy load, the magician's wax was frothing down my chin and onto my love bubbles. The slamming of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his cervix cigar deep in my brown eye. By now, my cod canyon was seeping like a slavering dog. With my piss flaps now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start shoving my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a toilet twinkie, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my carp cavity still seeping. I thought it was over but his turgid terror truncheon had other ideas. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his Nelson's Column slamming my cock holster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. My gaping clam cavern was trembling like a rat on acid. He curled a giant footlong fudge bullet on my love bubbles just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. With his pink tractor beam plowing deep into my ruby cave, the sensation of his slut slayer smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. I can't wait to suck the magician's wax from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. Now, I've had more hands up me tha
n The Muppets, but the sight of his ample cock made my beige slime foam like a hungry pig at a trough. There was gentleman's relish slobbering from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his muffbuster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my cod canyon and an egg timer up my brown mile. It was bliss having his Nelson's Column probed inside me again; stuffing my ruby cave with a gerbil just didn't get my pink velvet sausage wallet gushing like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax dribbling from my fudge factory and all over my beef curtains. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my gashtray got me spraying tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his mutton dagger shoved deeper into my poop chute. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and Da Vinci load in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The feeling of his creamy load seeping down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. If I don't buff the muff to get my sex wee frothing from my birth cannon, his balony pony is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a hippo's yawn.
