by Amy Woods
My mouth was so full of cunt plunger and penis pudding, the steamin' semen was leaching down my chin and onto my droopies. With his vein cane pounding deep into my fuck gutter, the sensation of his throbbing quim dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. It was bliss having his stilton sword plunged inside me again; stuffing my herring hole with a 9-iron just didn't get my split peach pouring like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ramrod rammed deeper into my cocoa channel. He dropped a giant colon cobra on my rack just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my spunk dungeon got me spraying pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. By now, my shame portal was trickling like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The feeling of his magician's wax oozing down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his blue-veined custard chucker made my minge mucus foam like a broken coffee maker. The slamming makes me spit my tuna tunnel tears all over his tallywacker. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen oozing from my brown eye and all over my lunchmeat. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. I can't wait to consume the gentleman's relish from his love lollipop. 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 cum dumpster and a barbie doll up my old dirt road. With my velcro triangle now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start sliding my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a colon cobra, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his mutton dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his throbbing quim dagger from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his gristle missile. If I don't fish for pearls to get my vertical moisture haemorrhaging from my salmon slit, his spam dagger is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. There was love mayonnaise foaming from his womb raider and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my pink velvet sausage wallet still leaking. I thought it was over but his chorizo howitzer had other ideas. The thrusting of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his womb ferret deep in my cocoa channel. After having my bearded haddock pasty hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my black hole. My cod crater was trembling like a shitting dog. The mixture of toilet twinkie and cock snot in my fart valve created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his skin flute pounding my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container.
Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his meaty member soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his baby gravy weeping down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The unrelenting orgasms from his cervix cigar plowing my cock holster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. After having my stench trench plowed, he then proceeded to raid my tradesman's entrance. I can't wait to consume the man fat from his womb ferret. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cheese-crusted cock plunged deeper into my tradesman's entrance. If I don't strum the banjo to get my flange custard oozing from my cock holster, his spunk-filled spam rocket is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a hippo's yawn. Inserting a gerbil into my clearing in the woods got me spritzing pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss flowing from my brown mile and all over my furburger. There was love mayonnaise weeping from his skin flute and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. My cake hole was so full of battering ram and cock custard, the penis pudding was leaching down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my birth cannon and a gerbil up my mud flap. It was bliss having his stilton spear plunged inside me again; stuffing my shame portal with a 9-iron just didn't get my clam-flavoured pothole flowing like it used to. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and cock custard in my balloon knot created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. When he removed his spam dagger from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the colon cobra off his piss pipe. The plowing makes me eject my sex wee all over his sperminator. The plowing of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his piss pipe deep in my poo pipe. He eased out a giant hardened fudge nugget on my mammaries just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my one slice toaster still weeping. I thought it was over but his thrill drill had other ideas. With his giggle stick raiding deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his battering ram made my sex wee haemorrhage like a broken coffee maker. By now, my enchilada of love was sliming like a broken fridge freezer. With my clap flaps now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start sliding my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a toilet twinkie, I wondered? My wizards sleeve was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.
When he removed his womb ferret from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the corn-eyed butt snake off his cumtree. It was bliss having his slut slayer shoved inside me again; stuffing my hatchet wound with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my tuna canal spritzing like it used to. Inserting a 9-iron into my municipal cockwash got me spouting sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. By now, my stench trench was draining like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The hammering makes me pour my clunge gunge all over his spam javelin. If I don't tune the tuna to get my spaff weeping from my furry cup, his spunk-filled spam rocket is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling badly battered road kill. The feeling of his baby gravy frothing down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. After having my birth cannon fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my marmite motorway. With my spam castanets now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start shoving my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a butt nugget, I wondered? The mixture of sewer trout and love mayonnaise in my poop chute created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. My clunge pool was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. My mouth was so full of battering ram and gentleman's relish, the Da Vinci load was oozing down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my sperm socket and an antique doorknob up my balloon knot. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! The hammering of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his Nelson's Column deep in my black hole. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his cheese-crusted cock made my tuna tunnel tears slime like a leaky tap. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his wrist-thick wand 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 chubstep stuffed deeper into my turd-herder. There was ectoplasm sliming from his wensleydale wand and I was wetter than a
spastic's chin. We were ready for more. With his turgid terror truncheon hammering deep into my slime hole, the sensation of his washington monument smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He pinched off a giant sewer trout on my superdroopers just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy slobbering from my balloon knot and all over my furburger. I can't wait to chow down on the gentleman's relish from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. I awoke the next morning with my cock holster still draining. I thought it was over but his one-eyed monster had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword thrusting my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun.
With my lunchmeat now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start sliding my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? By now, my frilling pink golf bag was haemorrhaging like a hungry pig at a trough. 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 ladytown and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my other vagina. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his mutton dagger shoved deeper into my fudge factory. The hammering makes me squirt my beige slime all over his spam dagger. After having my enchilada of love hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my fart valve. My vibration station was trembling like a rat on acid. Inserting a 9-iron into my one slice toaster got me spouting beige slime faster than snot off a whip. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his spam javelin made my vertical moisture leach like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. There was love mayonnaise sliming from his mutton dagger and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise foaming from my marmite motorway and all over my hairy goblet. I awoke the next morning with my moose knuckle still oozing. I thought it was over but his mutton dagger had other ideas. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher probed inside me again; stuffing my front bum with a gerbil just didn't get my quim splurging like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his love lollipop soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! When he removed his jade rod from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the sewer trout off his muffbuster. He crowned a giant hardened fudge nugget on my chest puppies just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My mouth was so full of sperminator and cock snot, the creamy load was dribbling down my chin and onto my cans. The slamming of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his love muscle deep in my turd-herder. The mixture of butt nugget and Da Vinci load in my balloon knot created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver hammering my stench trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. The feeling of his cock custard leaching down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his stilton sword plowing deep into my fuck trench, the sensation of his one-eyed monster smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. If I don't finger blast to get my clunge gunge seeping from my clam-flavoured pothole, his muffbuster is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a hippo's yawn. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week.
He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver pounding my shamevelope 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 muffbuster slid deeper into my vintage golf bag. The hammering of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his spam javelin deep in my Oxo orifice. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax flowing from my black hole and all over my piss flaps. By now, my penis pothole was frothing like a George Foreman grill. The mixture of colon cobra and steamin' semen in my other vagina created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my quim and a squash up my puckered brown eye. If I don't flick the bean to get my sex wee oozing from my fuck gutter, his devil's bagpipe is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a clown's pocket. With his bugger king raiding deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his blind butler smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. He copped a giant sewer trout on my tatas just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. It was bliss having his chorizo howitzer shoved inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with a barbie doll just didn't get my birth cannon squirting like it used to. I can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his love muscle. With my vertical smile now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start shoving my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a colon cobra, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his meaty member soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my tuna canal still dripping. I thought it was over but his mutton dagger had other ideas. The feeling of his Da Vinci load oozing down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The slamming makes me squirt my clunge gunge all over his all-beef thermometer. My cake hole was so full of tenderloin truncheon and ectoplasm, the love piss was dribbling down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. When he removed his love muscle from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the stink pickle off his purple beaver buster. My frilling pink golf bag was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Inserting an antique doorknob into my clam-flavoured pothole got me surging fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his love muscle made my clunge gunge trickle like a broken coffee maker. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! After having my quim pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my mud flap.
The fucking of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his brie baton deep in my marmite motorway. With my purple cabbage now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start probing my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? By now, my cum dumpster was leaking like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper slamming my gaping clam cavern made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. I can't wait to suck the man fat from his all-beef thermometer. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my penis pothole and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my shit winker. Inserting a gerbil into my enchilada of love got me gushing sex wee 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 meaty member rammed deeper into my ring piece. I awoke the next morning with my one slice toaster still dribbling. I thought it was over but his all-beef thermometer had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat haemorrhaging from my brown mile and all over my spam castanets. When he removed his one-eyed monster from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the toilet twinkie off his tallywacker. The feeling of his cock custard weeping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've seen
more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his Ocean's 11 Inches made my tuna tunnel tears leach like a broken coffee maker. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my beige slime trickling from my one slice toaster, his cunt stretcher is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a shot cat. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his thrill drill soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. My cake hole was so full of clunger and cock custard, the love mayonnaise was oozing down my chin and onto my droopies. It was bliss having his spam dagger stuffed inside me again; stuffing my penis pothole with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my one slice toaster spouting like it used to. My one slice toaster was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The pounding makes me gush my shrimp sap all over his spam dagger. After having my cum dumpster slammed, he then proceeded to raid my brown eye. With his greasy kebab skewer hammering deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his batter blaster smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. He curled a giant toilet twinkie on my superdroopers just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of sewer trout and cock snot in my old dirt road created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. There was ectoplasm haemorrhaging from his Nelson's Column and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more.
