by Amy Woods
He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. The plowing makes me pour my vertical moisture all over his skin flute. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his batter blaster plunged deeper into my fudge factory. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his spam dagger made my tuna tunnel tears dribble like a broken fridge freezer. There was magician's wax trickling from his womb raider and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his purple beaver buster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his spam javelin plunged inside me again; stuffing my cod crater with a 9-iron just didn't get my gashtray squirting like it used to. After having my vaginal bacon buffet fucked, he then proceeded to raid my chocolate starfish. He blasted a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my mosquito bites just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy weeping from my marmite motorway and all over my fishy flaps. I can't wait to gobble the Da Vinci load from his mutton dagger. With his spam javelin slamming deep into my vaginal bacon buffet, the sensation of his jebend smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. With my velcro triangle now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start probing my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a sewer trout, I wondered? Inserting a gerbil into my spunk dungeon got me spritzing fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The feeling of his love piss weeping down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The unrelenting orgasms from his cumtree fucking my penis pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and penis pudding in my brown eye created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my clunge pool still leaching. I thought it was over but his thrill drill had other ideas. My mouth was so full of greasy slimelight and love piss, the baby gravy was foaming down my chin and onto my love bubbles. When he removed his Nelson's Column from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the butt nugget off his devil's bagpipe. My whispering eye was trembling like a shitting dog. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! If I don't fish for pearls to get my pussy batter slobbering from my gashtray, his washington monument is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a gutted trout. By now, my meat purse was draining like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my vaginal bacon buffet and a squash up my puckered brown eye.
By now, my furry cup was trickling like a leaky tap. The plowing of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his Nelson's Column deep in my mud flap. There was penis pudding weeping from his one-eyed monster and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his battering ram thrusting deep into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his cervix cigar smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. The feeling of his creamy load leaking down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my fishy flaps now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start probing my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his devil's bagpipe slamming my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. 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 tune the tuna to get my spaff oozing from my furry cup, his blind butler is going to leave my vertical smile resembling Terry Waite's allotment. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen slobbering from my poop chute and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. He copped a giant butt nugget on my mammaries just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his turgid terror truncheon made my flange custard seep like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. It was bliss having his blue-veined custard chucker slid inside me again; stuffing my depravity cavity with a gerbil just didn't get my gashtray squirting like it used to. The mixture of colon cobra and ectoplasm in my soft tight anus created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. My ruby cave was trembling like jelly. When he removed his bugger king from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the Mr. Hanky off his pink tractor beam. I awoke the next morning with my cod crater still seeping. I thought it was over but his mutton dagger had other ideas. My cake hole was so full of womb ferret and cock snot, the baby gravy was sliming down my chin and onto my twin peaks. I can't wait to suck the gentleman's relish from his disco stick. The fucking makes me surge my shrimp sap all over his stilton spear. After having my vaginal bacon buffet pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my other vagina. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my cod crater and a squash up my turd-herder. Inserting my fist into my mound of love pudding got me spritzing minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel shit.
I can't wait to chow down on the baby gravy from his tenderloin truncheon. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his womb ferret soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard flowing from my poo pipe and all over my furburger. After having my pink velvet sausage wallet pounded, he then proceeded to plow my poop chute. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my smush mitten got me flowing shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and Da Vinci load in my brown eye created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. When he removed his devil's bagpipe from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his blind butler. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his purple beaver buster made my shrimp sap slime like a George Foreman grill. With his balony pony pounding deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The feeling of his magician's wax leaching down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. It was bliss having his tenderloin truncheon shoved inside me again; stuffing my one slice toaster with my fist just didn't get my municipal cockwash gushing like it used to. If I don't fish for pearls to get my shrimp sap oozing from my hot pocket, his veiny quim prod is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a rabid baboon's arse. By now, my ruby cave was sliming 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 giggle stick rammed deeper into my other vagina. He launched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my rack just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. My one slice toaster was trembling like a rat on acid. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my frilling pink golf bag and my fist up my Oxo orifice. I awoke the next morning with my wizards sleeve still leaching. I thought it was over but his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his devil's bagpipe hammering my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy nea
r an unlocked shipping container. There was steamin' semen leaking from his greasy slimelight and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. With my hairy goblet now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start plunging my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? My cake hole was so full of slut slayer and man fat, the love mayonnaise was weeping down my chin and onto my twin peaks. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! The plowing makes me flood my beige slime all over his womb ferret.
Inserting a barbie doll into my shamevelope got me flowing beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his giggle stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of thrill drill and cock custard, the ectoplasm was oozing down my chin and onto my breasticles. My clearing in the woods was trembling like a shitting dog. He arced a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my droopies just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. There was man fat seeping from his ramrod and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. With his bugger king hammering deep into my calamari cockring, the sensation of his ramrod smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my frilling pink golf bag and a barbie doll up my vintage golf bag. The mixture of toilet twinkie and penis pudding in my Oxo orifice created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. I can't wait to chow down on the steamin' semen from his batter blaster. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his all-beef thermometer probed deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. The unrelenting orgasms from his bugger king thrusting my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. It was bliss having his long-dong silver probed inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my wizards sleeve gushing like it used to. If I don't finger blast to get my minge mucus dribbling from my fuck gutter, his cervix cigar is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a twisted slipper. The raiding of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his stilton sword deep in my balloon knot. I awoke the next morning with my depravity cavity still draining. I thought it was over but his spam javelin had other ideas. The feeling of his gentleman's relish oozing down my throat got my shrimp sap 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 purple beaver buster made my beige slime drain like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. When he removed his Ocean's 11 Inches 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 devour the corn-eyed butt snake off his all-beef thermometer. After having my penis pothole thrusted, he then proceeded to hammer my black hole. With my vertical garden now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start shoving my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! The hammering makes me spritz my sex wee all over his devil's bagpipe. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish flowing from my poo pipe and all over my flappy meal.
The feeling of his creamy load dribbling down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My cake hole was so full of eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and love piss, the ectoplasm was draining down my chin and onto my boobage. The slamming of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his love muscle deep in my cocoa channel. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish weeping from my brown mile and all over my flappy meal. It was bliss having his throbbing quim dagger stuffed inside me again; stuffing my birth cannon with my fist just didn't get my wizards sleeve splurging like it used to. The mixture of colon cobra and baby gravy in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. When he removed his love lollipop from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the footlong fudge bullet off his Nelson's Column. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his battering ram made my fallopian fish stock flow like a hungry pig at a trough. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his spam javelin soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The hammering makes me spit my clunge gunge all over his turgid terror truncheon. With my flappy meal now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start stuffing my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my vertical moisture trickling from my gaping clam cavern, his thrill drill is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling Brian May's plughole. After having my smush mitten slammed, he then proceeded to raid my brown mile. With his devil's bagpipe hammering deep into my slime hole, the sensation of his turgid terror truncheon smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my oyster ditch still flowing. I thought it was over but his tallywacker had other ideas. There was love mayonnaise slobbering from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. He curled a giant colon cobra on my tatas just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My gashtray was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his greasy kebab skewer slid deeper into my mud flap. By now, my chamber of squelch was leaking like a broken coffee maker. I can't wait to consume the magician's wax from his purple-headed trouser snake. The unrelenting orgasms from his Nelson's Column fucking my fuck gutter made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. 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 number of chillies in my vibration station and an egg timer up my brown mile.
The pounding of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his greasy slimelight deep in my puckered brown eye. With his cunt plunger fucking deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet, the sensation of his cervix cigar smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. I awoke the next morning with my vibrator crater still draining. I thought it was over but his skin flute had other ideas. When he removed his master of ceremonies from my poop chute, 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 footlong fudge bullet off his flesh gordon. The feeling of his penis pudding trickling down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his one-eyed milkman slid deeper into my brown mile. By now, my shamevelope was slobbering like a George Foreman grill. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his washington monument made my vertical moisture drain like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. My slime hole was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. My throat was so full of skeleton king and penis pudding, the steamin' semen was slobbering down my chin and onto my twin peaks. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load foaming from my Oxo orifice and all over my vertical smile. Inserting an egg timer into my fuck trench got me spr
itzing vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip. I can't wait to consume the cock snot from his skeleton king. 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 slime hole and a gerbil up my turd-herder. After having my quim pounded, he then proceeded to pound my cocoa channel. There was cock custard draining from his jebend and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. He curled a giant butt nugget on my top bollocks just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and ectoplasm in my Oxo orifice created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his all-beef thermometer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his cumtree shoved inside me again; stuffing my mound of love pudding with a barbie doll just didn't get my gaping clam cavern squirting like it used to. With my vertical smile now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start sliding my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a butt nugget, I wondered? He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The raiding makes me squirt my pussy batter all over his spam javelin. If I don't play the clitar to get my shrimp sap draining from my clearing in the woods, his master of ceremonies is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a blind cobbler's thumb.
