by Amy Woods
The feeling of his man fat trickling down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and magician's wax in my turd cutter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With my furburger now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start sliding my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a stink pickle, I wondered? The pounding of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus deep in my rusty bullet hole. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his Nelson's Column soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my municipal cockwash still slobbering. I thought it was over but his tallywacker had other ideas. If I don't flick the bean to get my pussy batter oozing from my salmon slit, his tenderloin truncheon is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling the south end of a badger going north. After having my quim thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my turd cutter. My Quimcy, M.E. was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald avenger thrusting my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. I can't wait to consume the cock snot from his huge penis. When he removed his spam javelin from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his huge penis. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his long-dong silver made my spaff flow like a slavering dog. He cut a giant stink pickle on my chesticles just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. By now, my clearing in the woods was frothing like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. With his skin flute raiding deep into my oyster ditch, the sensation of his meaty member smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax weeping from my tradesman's entrance and all over my panty hamster. There was love piss seeping from his battering ram and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his tenderloin truncheon probed inside me again; stuffing my hot pocket with a lightbulb just didn't get my quim flooding like it used to. Inserting my fist into my meat purse got me splurging sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. My throat was so full of mutton dagger and ectoplasm, the ectoplasm was frothing down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his wrist-thick wand probed deeper into my chocolate starfish. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! 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 slime hole and a 15" spiked vibrator up my poo pipe.
Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his Nelson's Column made my vertical moisture flow like a jizz waterfall. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. With my vertical smile now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start shoving my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a colon cobra, I wondered? The pounding of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his greasy kebab skewer deep in my chocolate starfish. After having my fuck gutter thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my cocoa channel. With his bugger king pounding deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his cheese-crusted cock smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. I awoke the next morning with my cod cave still draining. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. He copped a giant toilet twinkie on my fiery biscuits just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't wait to lap the love mayonnaise from his purple beaver buster. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple-headed trouser snake pounding my moose knuckle made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. The raiding makes me squirt my sex wee all over his jade rod. There was love mayonnaise leaking from his blind butler and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. If I don't tune the tuna to get my spaff slobbering from my enchilada of love, his one-eyed monster is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a badly wrapped kebab, and I was no different! My cake hole was so full of devil's bagpipe and ectoplasm, the baby gravy was foaming down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. When he removed his purple beaver buster from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the corn-eyed butt snake off his stilton spear. My oyster ditch was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load dripping from my old dirt road and all over my hairy goblet. It was bliss having his all-beef thermometer slid inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my vibration station squirting like it used to. Inserting a 9-iron into my wunder down under got me gushing minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of toilet twinkie and creamy load in my marmite motorway created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. By now, my wizards sleeve was dripping like a George Foreman grill. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his turgid terror truncheon plunged deeper into my poop chute. The feeling of his creamy load seeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than snot off a whip.
Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my vibrator crater and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my other vagina. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. There was steamin' semen haemorrhaging from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The feeling of his love piss leaking down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. After having my ladytown raided, he then proceeded to fuck my turd cutter. I awoke the next morning with my split peach still frothing. I thought it was over but his chorizo howitzer had other ideas. It was bliss having his Ocean's 11 Inches probed inside me again; stuffing my fuck trench with a gerbil just didn't get my herring hole spritzing like it used to. With my flappy meal now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start plunging my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The mixture of stink pickle and ectoplasm in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his love muscle raiding my sperm socket made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. By now, my whispering eye was foaming like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. He eased out a giant Mr. Hanky on my mammaries just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Inserting a barbie doll into my clunge pool got me splurging clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. The plowing of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his washington monument deep in my brown eye. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his love lollipop made my spaff drip like a jizz waterfall. If I don't tune the tuna to get my beige slime leaking from my oyster ditch, his one-eyed monster is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a gutted trout. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton spear rammed deeper into my shit winker. My mouth was so full of muffbuster and magician's wax, the cock custard was flowing down my chin and onto my droopies. I can't wait to chow down on the Da Vinci load from his huge penis. The raiding makes me flow my vertical moisture all over his jade rod. The seemingly never-en
ding streams of baby gravy emanating from his cervix cigar soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his veiny quim prod from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the Mr. Hanky off his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! My Quimcy, M.E. was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot trickling from my turd cutter and all over my roast beef platter.
Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my split peach and a lightbulb up my brown eye. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss dripping from my turd cutter and all over my beef curtains. With my spam castanets now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start ramming my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a butt nugget, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his chubstep soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my smush mitten still leaking. I thought it was over but his ample cock had other ideas. He crowned a giant footlong fudge bullet on my boobage just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his kebeb skewer slid deeper into my black hole. Inserting a number of chillies into my quim got me flowing sex wee faster than snot off a whip. The plowing of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his love muscle deep in my fudge factory. My throat was so full of spunk-filled spam rocket and steamin' semen, the gentleman's relish was slobbering down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. The mixture of butt nugget and Da Vinci load in my brown eye created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his Nelson's Column plunged inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity with a 9-iron just didn't get my cum dumpster splurging like it used to. My vibration station was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my minge monsoon draining from my sperm socket, his sperminator is going to leave my panty hamster resembling Pete Burns' lips. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his batter blaster made my pussy batter drain like a broken coffee maker. When he removed his cervix cigar from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his chubstep. I can't wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his slut slayer. The feeling of his creamy load sliming down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his clunger thrusting deep into my clunge pool, the sensation of his muffbuster smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. The pounding makes me surge my sex wee all over his chorizo howitzer. By now, my shamevelope was weeping like a broken coffee maker. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! After having my penis pothole raided, he then proceeded to raid my turd cutter. There was steamin' semen haemorrhaging from his cream reaper and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more.
The fucking of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his blind butler deep in my old dirt road. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love muscle stuffed deeper into my chocolate starfish. My wizards sleeve was trembling like a rat on acid. I can't wait to consume the love piss from his womb raider. I awoke the next morning with my hot pocket still dribbling. I thought it was over but his master of ceremonies had other ideas. With his purple beaver buster plowing deep into my penis pothole, the sensation of his clunger smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. There was creamy load trickling from his flesh gordon and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. By now, my shamevelope was trickling like a jizz waterfall. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his cumtree made my pussy batter drain like a jizz waterfall. The thrusting makes me flood my minge mucus all over his piss pipe. After having my clunge pool plowed, he then proceeded to slam my tradesman's entrance. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his giggle stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. 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 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my clearing in the woods and a 9-iron up my fart valve. He cut a giant Mr. Hanky on my breasticles just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The unrelenting orgasms from his throbbing quim dagger raiding my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. The mixture of toilet twinkie and magician's wax in my mud flap created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. When he removed his spunk-filled spam rocket from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the toilet twinkie off his blue-veined custard chucker. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm slobbering from my brown eye and all over my velcro triangle. The feeling of his gentleman's relish sliming down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My cake hole was so full of jebend and ectoplasm, the cock snot was frothing down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! Inserting a squash into my shame portal got me spattering sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. It was bliss having his clunger stuffed inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam cavern with a number of chillies just didn't get my spunk dungeon squirting like it used to. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my spaff leaching from my meat purse, his cream reaper is going to leave my furburger resembling badly battered road kill.
I can't wait to suck the magician's wax from his gristle missile. The pounding of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his battering ram deep in my turd-herder. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and baby gravy in my brown mile created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. When he removed his washington monument from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the corn-eyed butt snake off his spam javelin. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his one-eyed monster made my tuna tunnel tears slobber like a George Foreman grill. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my spaff dribbling from my hatchet wound, his cumtree is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a stamped bat. My mouth was so full of piss pipe and baby gravy, the steamin' semen was draining down my chin and onto my droopies. The hammering makes me splurge my clunge gunge all over his blind butler. By now, my moose knuckle was sliming like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. He eased out a giant stink pickle on my mammaries just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. Inserting a lightbulb into my depravity cavity got me splurging spaff faster than snot off a whip. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my shamevelope and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my brown mile. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his veiny quim prod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my ladytown hammered, he then proceeded to thrust my rusty bullet hole. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his balony pony pounding my ruby cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. There was creamy load haemorrhaging from his spam javelin and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready f
or more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load seeping from my Oxo orifice and all over my spam castanets. My cod crater was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. With his Nelson's Column plowing deep into my vibrator crater, the sensation of his slut slayer smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! With my furburger now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start sliding my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a sewer trout, I wondered? It was bliss having his veiny quim prod shoved inside me again; stuffing my shamevelope with a 9-iron just didn't get my Quimcy, M.E. spattering like it used to. The feeling of his love mayonnaise oozing down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my tuna canal still leaching. I thought it was over but his Nelson's Column had other ideas.
