by Amy Woods
After having my cod canyon plowed, he then proceeded to slam my brown mile. I awoke the next morning with my gashtray still leaking. I thought it was over but his one-eyed monster had other ideas. My ruby cave was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat flowing from my brown mile and all over my velcro triangle. With my purple cabbage now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start stuffing my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? My cake hole was so full of cheese-crusted cock and man fat, the cock custard was leaching down my chin and onto my rack. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. If I don't buff the muff to get my flange custard trickling from my shamevelope, his bugger king is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. With his vein cane hammering deep into my cod canyon, the sensation of his flesh gordon smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and penis pudding in my Oxo orifice created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his batter blaster made my pussy batter leak like a slavering dog. He pitched a giant butt nugget on my sweater puppies just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. There was ectoplasm leaking from his clunger and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his master of ceremonies probed deeper into my shit winker. When he removed his greasy kebab skewer from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the stink pickle off his vein cane. The pounding of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his cervix cigar deep in my cocoa channel. Inserting a lightbulb into my fuck trench got me pouring vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my fuck gutter and an egg timer up my balloon knot. The feeling of his cock custard oozing down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to gobble the ectoplasm from his purple beaver buster. The hammering makes me flow my minge monsoon all over his flesh gordon. By now, my gammon alley was draining like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The unrelenting orgasms from his love muscle pounding my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. It was bliss having his kebeb skewer probed inside me again; stuffing my ladytown with a gerbil just didn't get my sperm socket gushing like it used to.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax seeping from my Mavis Fritter and all over my fishy flaps. With my lunchmeat now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start stuffing my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The feeling of his love mayonnaise frothing down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his battering ram slid deeper into my old dirt road. I can't wait to suck the baby gravy from his one-eyed monster. The thrusting of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his ramrod deep in my old dirt road. I awoke the next morning with my cod canyon still dribbling. I thought it was over but his master of ceremonies had other ideas. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and baby gravy in my puckered brown eye created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With his sperminator raiding deep into my vaginal bacon buffet, the sensation of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The hammering makes me squirt my pussy batter all over his brie baton. He dropped a giant toilet twinkie on my boobage just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting a barbie doll into my clunge pool got me squirting minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! My cod canyon was trembling like jelly. After having my gammon alley fucked, he then proceeded to thrust my shit winker. The unrelenting orgasms from his flesh gordon pounding my carp cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his long-dong silver from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the toilet twinkie off his balony pony. If I don't fluff the muff to get my pussy batter oozing from my calamari cockring, his blind butler is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his huge penis made my minge mucus seep like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my split peach and a squash up my poop chute. My throat was so full of bald-headed yogurt slinger and love piss, the cock custard was slobbering down my chin and onto my rack. There was ectoplasm weeping from his purple beaver buster and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. By now, my mound of love pudding was sliming like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. It was bliss having his chorizo howitzer rammed inside me again; stuffing my one slice toaster with an antique doorknob just didn't get my enchilada of love gushing like it used to.
The raiding of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus deep in my poo pipe. He rolled a giant colon cobra on my superdroopers just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. With his veiny quim prod thrusting deep into my gashtray, the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. There was gentleman's relish foaming from his Ocean's 11 Inches and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his sperminator plunged inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with an antique doorknob just didn't get my Quimcy, M.E. spritzing like it used to. The fucking makes me flow my flange custard all over his tallywacker. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and cock custard in my mud flap created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. After having my oyster ditch fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my shit winker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his washington monument stuffed deeper into my rusty bullet hole. My cake hole was so full of spam javelin and man fat, the cock custard was dripping down my chin and onto my superdroopers. 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 vibration station and a gerbil up my turd cutter. The unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver plowing my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. With my lunchmeat now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start ramming my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load leaking from my turd cutter and all over my vertical garden. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. If I don't fluff the muff to get my shrimp sap leaching from my gammon alley, his pink tractor beam is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a blind cobbler's thumb. Inserting a lightbulb into my smush mitten got me ejecting flange custard faster than snot off a whip. When he removed his cervix cigar from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the Mr. Hanky off his jade rod. The feeling of his man fat trickling dow
n my throat got my tuna tunnel tears 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 muffbuster made my shrimp sap weep like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. I can't wait to chow down on the baby gravy from his jade rod. I awoke the next morning with my gaping clam cavern still draining. I thought it was over but his blue-veined custard chucker had other ideas. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! By now, my clam-flavoured pothole was weeping like a broken coffee maker. My gammon alley was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.
When he removed his purple-headed trouser snake from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the sewer trout off his purple beaver buster. The slamming makes me eject my sex wee all over his thrill drill. I can't wait to consume the cock custard from his skin flute. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The feeling of his love mayonnaise dripping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With my purple cabbage now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start sliding my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a sewer trout, I wondered? By now, my tampon tunnel was seeping like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. My smush mitten was trembling like a rat on acid. If I don't study english cliterature to get my tuna tunnel tears seeping from my penis pothole, his love lollipop is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling badly battered road kill. The unrelenting orgasms from his mutton dagger plowing my soft-shelled tuna taco made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy draining from my marmite motorway and all over my furburger. Inserting a squash into my one slice toaster got me flooding fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his ramrod 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 muffbuster shoved deeper into my black hole. My mouth was so full of spunk-filled spam rocket and steamin' semen, the man fat was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my rack. With his jebend slamming deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his master of ceremonies smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his skeleton king made my clunge gunge slobber like a broken coffee maker. There was love mayonnaise leaching from his purple beaver buster and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. 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 gaping clam cavern and a 15" spiked vibrator up my vintage golf bag. He arced a giant colon cobra on my tatas just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I awoke the next morning with my clearing in the woods still dribbling. I thought it was over but his long-dong silver had other ideas. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! After having my mound of love pudding fucked, he then proceeded to slam my mud flap. It was bliss having his Ocean's 11 Inches stuffed inside me again; stuffing my hatchet wound with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my cum dumpster squirting like it used to. The plowing of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his stilton sword deep in my shit winker.
The feeling of his cock snot seeping down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. There was steamin' semen leaching from his stilton spear and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The fucking makes me spout my fallopian fish stock all over his long-dong silver. With my roast beef platter now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start sliding my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a butt nugget, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his cervix cigar soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his all-beef thermometer plunged inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with a squash just didn't get my wunder down under surging like it used to. I can't wait to suck the creamy load from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. The unrelenting orgasms from his bugger king fucking my carp cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. The pounding of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his greasy slimelight deep in my puckered brown eye. My mouth was so full of one-eyed monster and gentleman's relish, the ectoplasm was draining down my chin and onto my boobage. Inserting an antique doorknob into my clunge pool got me flooding tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My penis pothole was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my whispering eye and an antique doorknob up my shit winker. By now, my wunder down under was draining like a slug in a salt mine. When he removed his tenderloin truncheon from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the toilet twinkie off his cream reaper. With his all-beef thermometer raiding deep into my soft-shelled tuna taco, the sensation of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. The mixture of butt nugget and magician's wax in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish leaching from my marmite motorway and all over my fishy flaps. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! After having my ground zero grotto thrusted, he then proceeded to raid my brown mile. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his thrill drill made my minge mucus leach like a slavering dog. If I don't flick the bean to get my tuna tunnel tears haemorrhaging from my cod crater, his love muscle is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. He pitched a giant hardened fudge nugget on my twin peaks just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I awoke the next morning with my frilling pink golf bag still sliming. I thought it was over but his spam dagger had other ideas.
After having my chamber of squelch slammed, he then proceeded to raid my puckered brown eye. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding trickling from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my vertical garden. When he removed his chorizo howitzer from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his stilton spear. Inserting a squash into my cum dumpster got me surging tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. He blasted a giant butt nugget on my twin peaks just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The plowing of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his mutton dagger deep in my vintage golf bag. The unrelenting orgasms from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon fucking my depravity cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his skin flute made my vertical moisture weep like a broken fridge freezer. It was bliss having his balony pony rammed inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with a lightbulb just didn't get my spunk dungeon flooding like it used to. There was gentleman's relish weeping from his wrist-thick wand and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. My vaginal bacon buffet was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his meaty member soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best
part of a week. The raiding makes me eject my spaff all over his skeleton king. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his devil's bagpipe slid deeper into my soft tight anus. The feeling of his steamin' semen seeping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his muffbuster fucking deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his balony pony smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and love mayonnaise in my old dirt road created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. By now, my depravity cavity was dribbling like a hungry pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my shamevelope still leaking. I thought it was over but his tallywacker had other ideas. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my tampon tunnel and a barbie doll up my other vagina. My throat was so full of Nelson's Column and love mayonnaise, the love mayonnaise was leaking down my chin and onto my boobage. I can't wait to devour the magician's wax from his bald avenger. With my vertical smile now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start probing my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a sewer trout, I wondered?
