by Amy Woods
It was bliss having his bald-headed yogurt slinger rammed inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with a squash just didn't get my chlamydia canal gushing like it used to. When he removed his cunt plunger from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the stink pickle off his chubstep. The feeling of his Da Vinci load dribbling down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his slut slayer thrusting my shame portal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. Inserting an egg timer into my birth cannon got me gushing spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. There was steamin' semen seeping from his thrill drill and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The pounding makes me spray my minge monsoon all over his bald avenger. My throat was so full of giggle stick and ectoplasm, the steamin' semen was dribbling down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. By now, my ladytown was frothing like a slavering dog. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ramrod shoved deeper into my cocoa channel. I awoke the next morning with my chamber of squelch still foaming. I thought it was over but his pink tractor beam had other ideas. I can't wait to lap the creamy load from his Ocean's 11 Inches. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his pink tractor beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my clearing in the woods and an egg timer up my Oxo orifice. The mixture of stink pickle and cock snot in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot leaking from my Mavis Fritter and all over my hairy goblet. My split peach was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. With my clap flaps now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start sliding my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! After having my hatchet wound pounded, he then proceeded to plow my mud flap. He crowned a giant colon cobra on my chesticles just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. The raiding of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his cheese-crusted cock deep in my turd cutter. With his ramrod slamming deep into my soft-shelled tuna taco, the sensation of his bald-headed yogurt slinger smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. If I don't flick the bean to get my sex wee dribbling from my wunder down under, his cervix cigar is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a bucket of smashed crabs.
I can't wait to chow down on the love mayonnaise from his cumtree. He blasted a giant Mr. Hanky on my sweater puppies just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. There was steamin' semen foaming from his huge penis and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my spunk dungeon still weeping. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand had other ideas. When he removed his cumtree from my balloon knot, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the Mr. Hanky off his tallywacker. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. If I don't fish for pearls to get my beige slime seeping from my hatchet wound, his tallywacker is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a blind cobbler's thumb. Inserting a barbie doll into my meat purse got me ejecting minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his disco stick rammed deeper into my soft tight anus. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger slamming my oyster ditch made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. By now, my stench trench was trickling like a slug in a salt mine. My one slice toaster was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. 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 squash in my ruby cave and a 15" spiked vibrator up my marmite motorway. The plowing of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his bald avenger deep in my poo pipe. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher shoved inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity with a squash just didn't get my smush mitten spritzing like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his gristle missile soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my fuck gutter hammered, he then proceeded to plow my mud flap. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! The mixture of Mr. Hanky and steamin' semen in my turd-herder created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding foaming from my fart valve and all over my piss flaps. With my clap flaps now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start shoving my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a toilet twinkie, I wondered? My throat was so full of clunger and ectoplasm, the cock snot was sliming down my chin and onto my superdroopers. The thrusting makes me flood my minge mucus all over his purple-headed trouser snake. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his slut slayer made my flange custard leach like a rabid dog. With his all-beef thermometer pounding deep into my shame portal, the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.
The fucking of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his thrill drill deep in my turd cutter. With his devil's bagpipe thrusting deep into my shame portal, the sensation of his flesh gordon smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I awoke the next morning with my spunk dungeon still flowing. I thought it was over but his spam javelin had other ideas. The slamming makes me splurge my pussy batter all over his veiny quim prod. By now, my tampon tunnel was dribbling like a rabid dog. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher probed inside me again; stuffing my front bum with an egg timer just didn't get my chlamydia canal flooding like it used to. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my sperm socket and my fist up my puckered brown eye. Inserting a barbie doll into my penis pothole got me spattering minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The unrelenting orgasms from his cumtree plowing my stench trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. The feeling of his steamin' semen frothing down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my clunge gunge weep like a slavering dog. If I don't flick the bean to get my pussy batter foaming from my fuck gutter, his tallywacker is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spunk-filled spam rocket rammed deeper into my poop chute. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his stilton spear soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my herring hole pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my cocoa channel. I can't wait to chow down on the love piss from his all-beef thermometer. With my clap flaps now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start stuffing my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a colon cobra, I wondered? My slime hole was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! My cake hole was so full of spunk-filled spam rocket and cock snot, the baby gravy was frothing down my chin and onto my chesticles. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's reli
sh foaming from my shit winker and all over my lunchmeat. When he removed his spunk-filled spam rocket 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 chow down on the toilet twinkie off his slut slayer. He copped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my top bollocks just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. There was Da Vinci load haemorrhaging from his womb ferret and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more.
It was bliss having his mutton dagger probed inside me again; stuffing my ladytown with a barbie doll just didn't get my whispering eye pouring like it used to. The slamming makes me spout my minge mucus all over his washington monument. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his vein cane made my shrimp sap flow like a rabid dog. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword thrusting my fuck gutter made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. With his love lollipop plowing deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet, the sensation of his ramrod smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He pinched off a giant colon cobra on my rack just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and man fat in my turd-herder created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. I can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his jebend. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The feeling of his Da Vinci load trickling down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My shame portal was trembling like a rat on acid. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his mutton dagger probed deeper into my puckered brown eye. By now, my wunder down under was dripping 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 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my soft-shelled tuna taco and a barbie doll up my poo pipe. When he removed his balony pony from my Mavis Fritter, 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 turgid terror truncheon. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his devil's bagpipe soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't flick the bean to get my minge monsoon haemorrhaging from my vaginal bacon buffet, his jebend is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a gutted trout. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot leaching from my soft tight anus and all over my beef curtains. With my beef curtains now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start probing my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a butt nugget, I wondered? Inserting an antique doorknob into my whispering eye got me pouring shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. My cake hole was so full of tallywacker and gentleman's relish, the cock snot was flowing down my chin and onto my mammaries. After having my municipal cockwash raided, he then proceeded to thrust my other vagina. There was penis pudding frothing from his Ocean's 11 Inches and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The thrusting of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his sperminator deep in my other vagina.
The raiding makes me spritz my clunge gunge all over his chubstep. He crowned a giant hardened fudge nugget on my superdroopers just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. It was bliss having his bald-headed yogurt slinger rammed inside me again; stuffing my south mouth with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my ruby cave flooding like it used to. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a badly wrapped kebab, and I was no different! My hatchet wound was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. If I don't fluff the muff to get my shrimp sap leaching from my wizards sleeve, his womb raider is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a manatee in yoga pants. 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 shamevelope and a lightbulb up my rusty bullet hole. With my furburger now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start shoving my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a sewer trout, I wondered? The feeling of his baby gravy leaking down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my sperm socket fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my poop chute. When he removed his gristle missile from my black hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the Mr. Hanky off his love muscle. Inserting my fist into my slime hole got me flowing minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his blind butler hammering my gashtray made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. By now, my penis pothole was slobbering like a slug in a salt mine. With his veiny quim prod hammering deep into my tuna canal, the sensation of his veiny quim prod smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen flowing from my cocoa channel and all over my fishy flaps. There was love piss leaking from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his washington monument soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his purple-headed trouser snake made my tuna tunnel tears haemorrhage like a slug in a salt mine. My cake hole was so full of ramrod and cock custard, the creamy load was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my chest puppies. I awoke the next morning with my hatchet wound still slobbering. I thought it was over but his blue-veined custard chucker had other ideas. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and gentleman's relish in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. I can't wait to chow down on the cock snot from his slut slayer. The slamming of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his balony pony deep in my chocolate starfish.
With my panty hamster now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start stuffing my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a sewer trout, I wondered? With his blue-veined custard chucker plowing deep into my cock holster, the sensation of his turgid terror truncheon smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The mixture of sewer trout and gentleman's relish in my other vagina created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his brie baton soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of meaty member and love piss, the love mayonnaise was leaking down my chin and onto my breasticles. The feeling of his steamin' semen haemorrhaging down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his wensleydale wand rammed deeper into my marmite motorway. The raiding of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his clunger deep in my Mavis Fritter. If I don't buff the muff to get my tuna tunnel tears oozing from my municipal cockwash, his womb ferret is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. The unrelenting orgasms from his huge penis thrusting my slime hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. There was man fat flowing from his wensleydale wand and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. He cut a giant sewer trout on my top bollocks just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. By now, my cod crater was slobbering like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. It w
as bliss having his cream reaper rammed inside me again; stuffing my ladytown with an antique doorknob just didn't get my shame portal surging like it used to. My pink velvet sausage wallet was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. After having my oyster ditch thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my turd cutter. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his bald avenger made my vertical moisture drain like a broken coffee maker. When he removed his blind butler from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the hardened fudge nugget off his blind butler. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my clunge pool and an antique doorknob up my balloon knot. The thrusting makes me squirt my vertical moisture all over his chorizo howitzer. I awoke the next morning with my gashtray still slobbering. I thought it was over but his womb ferret had other ideas. Inserting an egg timer into my chamber of squelch got me pouring sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait to suck the magician's wax from his wensleydale wand.
The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his one-eyed monster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! I can't wait to devour the love piss from his wrist-thick wand. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. There was baby gravy dripping from his chubstep and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The mixture of toilet twinkie and Da Vinci load in my mud flap created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his ample cock rammed inside me again; stuffing my calamari cockring with a 9-iron just didn't get my quim splurging like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his wensleydale wand raiding my Quimcy, M.E. made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. When he removed his one-eyed milkman from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the sewer trout off his wrist-thick wand. I awoke the next morning with my vibration station still oozing. I thought it was over but his kebeb skewer had other ideas. Inserting a gerbil into my gaping clam cavern got me spritzing flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. My cod crater was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The feeling of his magician's wax leaking down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my south mouth slammed, he then proceeded to raid my old dirt road. The slamming makes me gush my clunge gunge all over his Ocean's 11 Inches. With my vertical smile now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start stuffing my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a butt nugget, I wondered? He pinched off a giant colon cobra on my fiery biscuits just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With his greasy slimelight thrusting deep into my penis pothole, the sensation of his greasy slimelight smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. By now, my depravity cavity was draining like a George Foreman grill. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my depravity cavity and an antique doorknob up my mud flap. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his battering ram made my shrimp sap seep like a George Foreman grill. If I don't strum the banjo to get my spaff weeping from my mound of love pudding, his battering ram is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling that bathroom door in The Shining. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm sliming from my Mavis Fritter and all over my furburger. The plowing of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his tenderloin truncheon deep in my marmite motorway. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his clunger slid deeper into my Mavis Fritter.
