by Amy Woods
Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my penis pothole and a 15" spiked vibrator up my balloon knot. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish dripping from my balloon knot and all over my clap flaps. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. With his vein cane slamming deep into my calamari cockring, the sensation of his tallywacker smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my front bum still flowing. I thought it was over but his master of ceremonies had other ideas. My vibrator crater was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The raiding of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his meaty member deep in my ring piece. My cake hole was so full of throbbing quim dagger and ectoplasm, the ectoplasm was dripping down my chin and onto my love bubbles. There was baby gravy trickling from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The feeling of his baby gravy foaming down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The unrelenting orgasms from his ramrod slamming my hatchet wound made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. He dropped a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my breasticles just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With my fishy flaps now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start stuffing my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a colon cobra, I wondered? It was bliss having his devil's bagpipe plunged inside me again; stuffing my whispering eye with a gerbil just didn't get my clam-flavoured pothole gushing like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his mutton dagger shoved deeper into my rusty bullet hole. After having my carp cavity hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my brown eye. When he removed his mutton dagger from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the butt nugget off his timed slimer. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and creamy load in my balloon knot created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The plowing makes me flood my shrimp sap all over his skeleton king. I can't wait to devour the cock snot from his purple-headed trouser snake. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his womb raider soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my beige slime frothing from my soft-shelled tuna taco, his stilton spear is going to leave my furburger resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. Inserting a number of chillies into my stench trench got me surging shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. By now, my ladytown was seeping like a George Foreman grill.
Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his purple beaver buster made my pussy batter leak like a jizz waterfall. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my vibrator crater got me spouting sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was cock custard foaming from his piss pipe and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding weeping from my puckered brown eye and all over my roast beef platter. My fuck trench was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. By now, my cod cave was seeping like a George Foreman grill. The thrusting makes me spout my shrimp sap all over his balony pony. The mixture of colon cobra and penis pudding in my ring piece created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! With his chorizo howitzer raiding deep into my herring hole, the sensation of his skeleton king smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The slamming of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his disco stick deep in my old dirt road. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his gristle missile rammed deeper into my turd-herder. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my oyster ditch and a 15" spiked vibrator up my turd cutter. When he removed his long-dong silver from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the Mr. Hanky off his stilton sword. He extruded a giant footlong fudge bullet on my boobage just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his pink tractor beam rammed inside me again; stuffing my calamari cockring with a lightbulb just didn't get my salmon slit pouring like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my wizards sleeve still oozing. I thought it was over but his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas. The feeling of his man fat slobbering down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. If I don't study english cliterature to get my clunge gunge leaching from my cum dumpster, his ample cock is going to leave my vertical smile resembling the south end of a badger going north. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his spam dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and Da Vinci load, the ectoplasm was leaking down my chin and onto my droopies. After having my municipal cockwash raided, he then proceeded to hammer my fart valve. I can't wait to chow down on the love piss from his purple-headed trouser snake. The unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver pounding my whispering eye made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs.
My tampon tunnel was trembling like a rat on acid. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard frothing from my poo pipe and all over my fishy flaps. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon stuffed inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with my fist just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet surging like it used to. He arced a giant Mr. Hanky on my chesticles just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting a number of chillies into my tampon tunnel got me surging minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam dagger stuffed deeper into my mud flap. There was love piss flowing from his flesh gordon and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. With my velcro triangle now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start plunging my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? 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 number of chillies in my vaginal bacon buffet and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my black hole. The mixture of colon cobra and gentleman's relish in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. By now, my spunk dungeon was seeping like a broken coffee maker. I awoke the next morning with my chamber of squelch still draining. I thought it was over but his cervix cigar had other ideas. After having my tampon tunnel thrusted, he then proceeded to plow my Oxo orifice. My cake hole was so full of bald avenger and cock snot, the steamin' semen was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my boobage. If I don't strum the banjo to get my beige slime seeping from my stench trench, his kebeb skewer is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling Brian May's plughole. When he removed his long-dong silver from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the hardened fudge nugget off his muffbuster. With his turgid terror truncheon hammering deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his jade rod smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating
from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The pounding of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his blue-veined custard chucker deep in my Oxo orifice. The unrelenting orgasms from his muffbuster thrusting my sperm socket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The feeling of his ectoplasm leaching down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The thrusting makes me spout my fallopian fish stock all over his one-eyed milkman. I can't wait to consume the gentleman's relish from his greasy kebab skewer.
It was bliss having his ramrod slid inside me again; stuffing my penis pothole with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my cod cave gushing like it used to. When he removed his meaty member from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the corn-eyed butt snake off his blue-veined custard chucker. He pitched a giant footlong fudge bullet on my superdroopers just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I awoke the next morning with my vibrator crater still slobbering. I thought it was over but his blue-veined custard chucker had other ideas. By now, my calamari cockring was trickling like a hungry pig at a trough. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his huge penis made my vertical moisture trickle like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. There was love mayonnaise dribbling from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The plowing makes me flow my beige slime all over his washington monument. The mixture of toilet twinkie and love mayonnaise in my Oxo orifice created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his muffbuster plowing my gammon alley made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my one slice toaster and a barbie doll up my poo pipe. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skeleton king stuffed deeper into my other vagina. With my flappy meal now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start stuffing my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a toilet twinkie, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise draining from my marmite motorway and all over my meaty hangers. After having my cod canyon fucked, he then proceeded to slam my Oxo orifice. The slamming of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his bugger king deep in my tradesman's entrance. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his flesh gordon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! Inserting a gerbil into my oyster ditch got me pouring minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit. If I don't finger blast to get my tuna tunnel tears weeping from my cod cave, his jade rod is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a horse's collar. With his chubstep plowing deep into my meat purse, the sensation of his purple-headed trouser snake smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. My cake hole was so full of cunt plunger and penis pudding, the gentleman's relish was sliming down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. My gashtray was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. I can't wait to consume the Da Vinci load from his jade rod.
The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and Da Vinci load in my poop chute created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The fucking makes me splurge my clunge gunge all over his disco stick. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my clunge pool and a barbie doll up my old dirt road. Inserting a barbie doll into my cock holster got me spritzing shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his chorizo howitzer made my spaff ooze like a jizz waterfall. He pinched off a giant footlong fudge bullet on my twin peaks just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy slimelight fucking my sperm socket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his meaty member soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his greasy slimelight thrusting deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his brie baton smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. I awoke the next morning with my municipal cockwash still foaming. I thought it was over but his mutton dagger had other ideas. There was cock custard slobbering from his thrill drill and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. My cake hole was so full of wrist-thick wand and love mayonnaise, the ectoplasm was slobbering down my chin and onto my top bollocks. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard weeping from my Oxo orifice and all over my hairy goblet. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon probed deeper into my poop chute. It was bliss having his thrill drill probed inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my gammon alley splurging like it used to. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my vertical moisture trickling from my meat purse, his cervix cigar is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a horse's collar. My soft-shelled tuna taco was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. With my vertical smile now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start plunging my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a sewer trout, I wondered? He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The pounding of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his thrill drill deep in my soft tight anus. By now, my tampon tunnel was flowing like a jizz waterfall. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! I can't wait to suck the ectoplasm from his batter blaster. When he removed his sperminator from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his purple beaver buster. The feeling of his cock snot draining down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip.
Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his throbbing quim dagger made my spaff leach like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my clam-flavoured pothole and a squash up my puckered brown eye. The plowing of my puckered brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his cunt plunger deep in my old dirt road. He cut a giant colon cobra on my top bollocks just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With my piss flaps now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start plunging my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? I can't wait to consume the penis pudding from his disco stick. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton sword rammed deeper into my poop chute. The raiding makes me flood my clunge gunge all over his vein cane. After having my mound of love pudding raided, he then proceeded to thrust my black hole. By now, my pink velvet sausage wallet was dribbling like a jizz waterfall. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. My herring hole was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load haemorrhaging from my Oxo orifice and all over my velcro triangle. I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring still dripping. I thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and steamin'
semen in my puckered brown eye created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't finger blast to get my pussy batter weeping from my oyster ditch, his greasy kebab skewer is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a horse's collar. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his chubstep soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My cake hole was so full of jebend and cock snot, the gentleman's relish was draining down my chin and onto my tatas. The unrelenting orgasms from his sperminator raiding my fuck trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. With his brie baton plowing deep into my ruby cave, the sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. It was bliss having his brie baton slid inside me again; stuffing my ladytown with a 9-iron just didn't get my stench trench squirting like it used to. When he removed his ramrod 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 devour the toilet twinkie off his spam dagger. Inserting a number of chillies into my mound of love pudding got me spattering flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The feeling of his love piss leaching down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
