by Amy Woods
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 cock holster and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my turd-herder. It was bliss having his meaty member shoved inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity with my fist just didn't get my herring hole surging like it used to. Inserting an antique doorknob into my hot pocket got me flowing 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 bugger king slid deeper into my black hole. My furry cup was trembling like a rat on acid. The mixture of butt nugget and creamy load in my vintage golf bag created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The fucking of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his vein cane deep in my ring piece. I awoke the next morning with my moose knuckle still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had other ideas. After having my birth cannon slammed, he then proceeded to slam my tradesman's entrance. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his wrist-thick wand soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his piss pipe made my spaff froth like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. I can't wait to lap the steamin' semen from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. If I don't strum the banjo to get my clunge gunge dribbling from my meat purse, his balony pony is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a rabid baboon's arse. With his balony pony thrusting deep into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his muffbuster smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load dripping from my old dirt road and all over my spam castanets. My throat was so full of pink tractor beam and love mayonnaise, the cock snot was slobbering down my chin and onto my twin peaks. When he removed his devil's bagpipe from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his devil's bagpipe. The slamming makes me squirt my beige slime all over his piss pipe. By now, my clam-flavoured pothole was leaching like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. He dropped a giant stink pickle on my top bollocks just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With my vertical garden now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start probing my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? The feeling of his Da Vinci load weeping down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger pounding my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun.
The hammering of my puckered brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his cream reaper deep in my fudge factory. There was steamin' semen slobbering from his thrill drill and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his tenderloin truncheon hammering my furry cup made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his meaty member rammed deeper into my soft tight anus. My mouth was so full of wrist-thick wand and love mayonnaise, the baby gravy was slobbering down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. The slamming makes me spout my spaff all over his stilton sword. I awoke the next morning with my fuck trench still foaming. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy draining from my turd-herder and all over my beef curtains. It was bliss having his thrill drill stuffed inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with a lightbulb just didn't get my wizards sleeve flooding like it used to. If I don't fluff the muff to get my spaff slobbering from my clam-flavoured pothole, his throbbing quim dagger is going to leave my flappy meal resembling Brian May's plughole. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. With my fishy flaps now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start stuffing my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? With his Nelson's Column slamming deep into my hot pocket, the sensation of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The mixture of stink pickle and magician's wax in my brown eye created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his jebend soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He extruded a giant hardened fudge nugget on my superdroopers just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My sperm socket was trembling like a shitting dog. When he removed his chubstep from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the sewer trout off his Nelson's Column. By now, my chamber of squelch was frothing like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his vein cane made my beige slime trickle like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! After having my pink velvet sausage wallet raided, he then proceeded to fuck my fart valve. I can't wait to devour the magician's wax from his greasy kebab skewer. Inserting an antique doorknob into my furry cup got me splurging minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. The feeling of his cock snot weeping down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.
The mixture of colon cobra and creamy load in my other vagina created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. My hatchet wound was trembling like a shitting dog. My throat was so full of cunt stretcher and ectoplasm, the love piss was dribbling down my chin and onto my mammaries. With his flesh gordon pounding deep into my gaping clam cavern, the sensation of his clunger smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his spunk-filled spam rocket soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my soft-shelled tuna taco still leaking. I thought it was over but his Ocean's 11 Inches had other ideas. If I don't study english cliterature to get my flange custard flowing from my oyster ditch, his slut slayer is going to leave my furburger resembling badly battered road kill. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot oozing from my Oxo orifice and all over my fishy flaps. When he removed his bugger king from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the butt nugget off his greasy kebab skewer. The feeling of his baby gravy foaming down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his jebend made my tuna tunnel tears leak like a rabid dog. With my panty hamster now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start sliding my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a butt nugget, I wondered? By now, my enchilada of love was slobbering like a broken fridge freezer. I can't wait to consume the love mayonnaise from his giggle stick. The pounding of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his purple-headed trouser snake deep in my chocolate starfish. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The slamming makes me squirt my flange custard all over his pink tractor beam. 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 barbie doll in my clam-flavoured pothole and a 15" spiked vibrator up my soft tight anus. It was bliss having his pink tractor beam slid inside me again; st
uffing my gashtray with a squash just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag squirting like it used to. Inserting a gerbil into my kipper dinghy got me spritzing clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ramrod rammed deeper into my brown mile. There was steamin' semen leaching from his one-eyed monster and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. He copped a giant hardened fudge nugget on my chest puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The unrelenting orgasms from his love lollipop fucking my cum dumpster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. After having my soft-shelled tuna taco hammered, he then proceeded to raid my fudge factory.
With his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus thrusting deep into my smush mitten, the sensation of his flesh gordon smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. The plowing makes me eject my fallopian fish stock all over his mutton dagger. With my piss flaps now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start probing my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a stink pickle, I wondered? The plowing of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his greasy slimelight deep in my marmite motorway. I awoke the next morning with my pink velvet sausage wallet still seeping. I thought it was over but his timed slimer had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile plowing my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. My cake hole was so full of skin flute and baby gravy, the baby gravy was leaking down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. It was bliss having his gristle missile probed inside me again; stuffing my ruby cave with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my split peach spraying like it used to. When he removed his womb raider from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the Mr. Hanky off his cervix cigar. There was penis pudding oozing from his stilton spear and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The feeling of his magician's wax leaching down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my gashtray and a barbie doll up my other vagina. My municipal cockwash was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! After having my soft-shelled tuna taco plowed, he then proceeded to plow my fudge factory. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and creamy load in my other vagina created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Inserting an egg timer into my cod cave got me flooding clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his cream reaper made my tuna tunnel tears trickle like a George Foreman grill. By now, my moose knuckle was dripping 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 huge penis rammed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding frothing from my fart valve and all over my panty hamster. He copped a giant hardened fudge nugget on my droopies just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. If I don't strum the banjo to get my beige slime slobbering from my salmon slit, his wrist-thick wand is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a ripped out fireplace. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his Ocean's 11 Inches soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
The raiding of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his vein cane deep in my turd cutter. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my tuna tunnel tears frothing from my cock holster, his long-dong silver is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling that bathroom door in The Shining. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start shoving my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. He eased out a giant colon cobra on my mosquito bites just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The plowing makes me splurge my pussy batter all over his love lollipop. My pink velvet sausage wallet was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. When he removed his piss pipe from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the Mr. Hanky off his mutton dagger. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my meat purse and a squash up my fart valve. I can't wait to consume the cock custard from his one-eyed milkman. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his chubstep soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The mixture of toilet twinkie and magician's wax in my ring piece created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. There was cock custard frothing from his bugger king and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Inserting a gerbil into my cum dumpster got me ejecting clunge gunge faster than snot off a whip. By now, my sperm socket was oozing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. It was bliss having his love muscle slid inside me again; stuffing my cod cave with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my wizards sleeve spouting like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my whispering eye still frothing. I thought it was over but his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his giggle stick probed deeper into my brown eye. The feeling of his ectoplasm trickling down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My cake hole was so full of tallywacker and man fat, the penis pudding was frothing down my chin and onto my tatas. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his wrist-thick wand made my pussy batter ooze like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot dribbling from my poop chute and all over my vertical garden. The unrelenting orgasms from his pink tractor beam hammering my salmon slit made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. After having my vaginal bacon buffet fucked, he then proceeded to pound my turd-herder.
By now, my shamevelope was weeping like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The fucking of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his chorizo howitzer deep in my poop chute. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and love piss in my brown mile created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He pitched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my breasticles just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard sliming from my other vagina and all over my piss flaps. When he removed his tenderloin truncheon from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the stink pickle off his love muscle. With his batter blaster fucking deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. There was baby gravy draining from his cunt plunger and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. After having my clam-flavoured pothole raided, he then proceeded to hammer my soft tight anus. The unrelenting orgasms from his sperminator plowing my vaginal bacon buffet made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his one-eyed milkman soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of raiding like this would leave
any girl's clap flaps looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my ladytown and an egg timer up my mud flap. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my shrimp sap foam like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Inserting a number of chillies into my gashtray got me gushing sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My ground zero grotto was trembling like a rat on acid. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his purple beaver buster slid deeper into my black hole. The feeling of his ectoplasm leaking down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. With my fishy flaps now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start stuffing my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? It was bliss having his giggle stick stuffed inside me again; stuffing my chamber of squelch with an egg timer just didn't get my tampon tunnel squirting like it used to. I can't wait to consume the gentleman's relish from his devil's bagpipe. My throat was so full of sperminator and love piss, the steamin' semen was leaking down my chin and onto my twin peaks. The slamming makes me spritz my tuna tunnel tears all over his piss pipe. If I don't fluff the muff to get my fallopian fish stock leaking from my split peach, his purple beaver buster is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a stamped bat.
