by Amy Woods
He crowned a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my boobage just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. With my velcro triangle now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start sliding my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my calamari cockring and an egg timer up my chocolate starfish. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his giggle stick made my minge mucus haemorrhage like a jizz waterfall. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton spear raiding my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. After having my vaginal bacon buffet thrusted, he then proceeded to fuck my cocoa channel. When he removed his jebend from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his blue-veined custard chucker. It was bliss having his gristle missile probed inside me again; stuffing my smush mitten with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my carp cavity flooding like it used to. With his cream reaper hammering deep into my sperm socket, the sensation of his Ocean's 11 Inches smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. My vaginal bacon buffet was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The feeling of his penis pudding haemorrhaging down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of sewer trout and ectoplasm in my balloon knot created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my pussy batter flowing from my frilling pink golf bag, his brie baton is going to leave my furburger resembling Brian May's plughole. Inserting a squash into my cum dumpster got me spraying minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss flowing from my brown mile and all over my furburger. I awoke the next morning with my hot pocket still trickling. I thought it was over but his one-eyed milkman had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his ample cock soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My mouth was so full of pink tractor beam and Da Vinci load, the cock custard was draining down my chin and onto my boobage. By now, my cod canyon was dribbling like a leaky tap. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his throbbing quim dagger shoved deeper into my cocoa channel. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The raiding makes me spray my spaff all over his ramrod. The pounding of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his long-dong silver deep in my turd cutter. I can't wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his devil's bagpipe.
The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his bald-headed yogurt slinger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! After having my quim pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my shit winker. I awoke the next morning with my cod cave still dribbling. I thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas. With his cheese-crusted cock thrusting deep into my ground zero grotto, the sensation of his cumtree smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my beige slime draining from my bearded haddock pasty, his cumtree is going to leave my piss flaps resembling Brian May's plughole. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and Da Vinci load in my poo pipe created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. When he removed his one-eyed milkman 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 hardened fudge nugget off his bald-headed yogurt slinger. I can't wait to gobble the penis pudding from his thrill drill. The feeling of his penis pudding frothing down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his brie baton stuffed inside me again; stuffing my hatchet wound with a gerbil just didn't get my ground zero grotto spraying like it used to. There was love piss flowing from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. By now, my wunder down under was sliming like a slug in a salt mine. Inserting a 9-iron into my wunder down under got me splurging tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm leaking from my fart valve and all over my spam castanets. The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick raiding my ruby cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my sperm socket and a 9-iron up my fudge factory. He crowned a giant footlong fudge bullet on my droopies just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The hammering of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his chubstep deep in my ring piece. My mouth was so full of bald-headed yogurt slinger and gentleman's relish, the ectoplasm was slobbering down my chin and onto my chesticles. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his all-beef thermometer plunged deeper into my turd-herder. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his skeleton king made my beige slime foam like a George Foreman grill. With my meaty hangers now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start shoving my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a butt nugget, I wondered? The thrusting makes me spray my minge monsoon all over his giggle stick. My slime hole was trembling like jelly.
Inserting a squash into my carp cavity got me pouring minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel shit. My sperm socket was trembling like a shitting dog. With his battering ram fucking deep into my depravity cavity, the sensation of his skeleton king smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. The pounding of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his one-eyed monster deep in my fart valve. After having my split peach hammered, he then proceeded to raid my fudge factory. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his devil's bagpipe made my beige slime dribble like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. My cake hole was so full of kebeb skewer and cock custard, the ectoplasm was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my rack. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my carp cavity and a 9-iron up my old dirt road. By now, my vaginal bacon buffet was sliming like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. The feeling of his cock custard dribbling down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. With my meaty hangers now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start sliding my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a sewer trout, I wondered? There was baby gravy seeping from his love lollipop and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy sliming from my poo pipe and all over my meaty hangers. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his pink tractor beam probed deeper into my chocolate starfish. I can't wait to devour the steamin' semen from his bugger king. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his meaty member soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He cut a giant hardened fudge nugget on my love bubbles just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. It was bliss having his meaty member rammed inside me again; stuffing my wizards sleeve with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my shamevelope flooding like it used to. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! The mixture of stink pickle and gentleman's relish in my chocolate starfish created the delicious re
ctoplasm that he was so fond of. The slamming makes me flow my shrimp sap all over his stilton sword. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald-headed yogurt slinger hammering my clearing in the woods made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my fallopian fish stock slobbering from my ladytown, his blind butler is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a sand blasted tomato. I awoke the next morning with my cod canyon still weeping. I thought it was over but his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen sliming from my marmite motorway and all over my lunchmeat. He cut a giant hardened fudge nugget on my love bubbles just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. The unrelenting orgasms from his cheese-crusted cock raiding my enchilada of love made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and penis pudding in my fudge factory created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! My furry cup was trembling like jelly. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start plunging my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my vaginal bacon buffet and a number of chillies up my brown mile. There was baby gravy draining from his chorizo howitzer and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my south mouth got me flooding vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip. My mouth was so full of flesh gordon and love mayonnaise, the man fat was draining down my chin and onto my top bollocks. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cheese-crusted cock slid deeper into my brown mile. The feeling of his love mayonnaise leaching down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait to suck the love piss from his greasy kebab skewer. I awoke the next morning with my clearing in the woods still sliming. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his ample cock made my shrimp sap seep like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. By now, my salmon slit was frothing like a slug in a salt mine. It was bliss having his tenderloin truncheon stuffed inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my pink velvet sausage wallet spattering like it used to. After having my clunge pool pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my poo pipe. The slamming makes me splurge my minge monsoon all over his spunk-filled spam rocket. With his balony pony slamming deep into my tampon tunnel, the sensation of his kebeb skewer smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his blind butler soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The plowing of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his skin flute deep in my Oxo orifice. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my sex wee frothing from my gammon alley, his skeleton king is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a twisted slipper.
He copped a giant Mr. Hanky on my tatas just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I can't wait to chow down on the gentleman's relish from his one-eyed milkman. I awoke the next morning with my clunge pool still frothing. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had other ideas. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! By now, my pink velvet sausage wallet was oozing like a broken coffee maker. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my cock holster and a 9-iron up my puckered brown eye. The hammering of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his cumtree deep in my black hole. The feeling of his cock custard trickling down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. After having my penis pothole raided, he then proceeded to hammer my tradesman's entrance. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and penis pudding in my poo pipe created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My furry cup was trembling like a rat on acid. Inserting an antique doorknob into my herring hole got me spraying clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax dribbling from my poop chute and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. My throat was so full of purple-headed trouser snake and penis pudding, the ectoplasm was weeping down my chin and onto my tatas. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his sperminator made my fallopian fish stock drip like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The raiding makes me spit my vertical moisture all over his slut slayer. The unrelenting orgasms from his jebend hammering my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. It was bliss having his disco stick slid inside me again; stuffing my frilling pink golf bag with a barbie doll just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag splurging like it used to. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my pussy batter leaching from my tuna canal, his master of ceremonies is going to leave my spam castanets resembling a gutted trout. 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 brown mile. With his clunger plowing deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his devil's bagpipe smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. With my roast beef platter now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start plunging my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? When he removed his disco stick from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the footlong fudge bullet off his love muscle.
My salmon slit was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his flesh gordon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. My throat was so full of cheese-crusted cock and ectoplasm, the cock snot was leaking down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my birth cannon and a squash up my old dirt road. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and man fat in my poo pipe created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus slid inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with a 9-iron just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag pouring like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his one-eyed monster probed deeper into my fudge factory. I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring still foaming. I thought it was over but his spunk-filled spam rocket had other ideas. He blasted a giant hardened fudge nugget on my droopies just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With his chorizo howitzer raiding deep into my mound of love pudding, the sensation of his greasy slimelight smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. When he removed his muffbuster 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 corn-eyed butt snake off his wrist-thick wand. The pounding of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his one-eyed milkman deep in my chocolate starfish. Inserting a squash into my birth cannon got me surging sex wee faster than snot off a whip. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's meaty
hangers looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! I can't wait to lap the baby gravy from his love muscle. If I don't flick the bean to get my sex wee leaching from my salmon slit, his veiny quim prod is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling Pete Burns' lips. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy seeping from my turd-herder and all over my furburger. After having my vibration station thrusted, he then proceeded to hammer my Mavis Fritter. The unrelenting orgasms from his womb ferret slamming my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. The slamming makes me spritz my sex wee all over his spam dagger. With my fishy flaps now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start probing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? By now, my quim was frothing like a George Foreman grill. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his wensleydale wand made my minge monsoon foam like a George Foreman grill. The feeling of his steamin' semen haemorrhaging down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.
