by Amy Woods
When he removed his turgid terror truncheon from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the Mr. Hanky off his huge penis. My throat was so full of ample cock and ectoplasm, the gentleman's relish was leaking down my chin and onto my superdroopers. I can't wait to lap the ectoplasm from his cheese-crusted cock. With my hairy goblet now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start ramming my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a sewer trout, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my fuck gutter and a lightbulb up my rusty bullet hole. I awoke the next morning with my stench trench still flowing. I thought it was over but his skeleton king had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his all-beef thermometer thrusting my Quimcy, M.E. made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and steamin' semen in my brown eye created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. By now, my fuck trench was haemorrhaging like a rabid dog. After having my cock holster thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my tradesman's entrance. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish frothing from my poo pipe and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his thrill drill made my clunge gunge trickle like a leaky tap. The feeling of his magician's wax haemorrhaging down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My fuck trench was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my minge monsoon sliming from my clunge pool, his piss pipe is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a clown's pocket. With his blind butler hammering deep into my clearing in the woods, the sensation of his one-eyed monster smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his pink tractor beam stuffed deeper into my puckered brown eye. The thrusting makes me squirt my shrimp sap all over his love muscle. It was bliss having his greasy kebab skewer stuffed inside me again; stuffing my hot pocket with an egg timer just didn't get my ruby cave squirting like it used to. He launched a giant hardened fudge nugget on my tatas just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. The hammering of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his disco stick deep in my shit winker. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his veiny quim prod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting an egg timer into my wunder down under got me flooding shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week.
The feeling of his steamin' semen oozing down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. 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 gerbil in my vibration station and a barbie doll up my vintage golf bag. The mixture of stink pickle and creamy load in my puckered brown eye created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my clearing in the woods got me flowing flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. By now, my moose knuckle was sliming like a hungry pig at a trough. The unrelenting orgasms from his throbbing quim dagger fucking my meat purse made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. After having my chlamydia canal fucked, he then proceeded to pound my poop chute. With my flappy meal now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start probing my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a stink pickle, I wondered? The plowing makes me splurge my beige slime all over his batter blaster. I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole still dripping. I thought it was over but his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his brie baton probed deeper into my fart valve. There was Da Vinci load draining from his purple beaver buster and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. With his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus raiding deep into my cod cave, the sensation of his devil's bagpipe smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. When he removed his long-dong silver from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the corn-eyed butt snake off his skeleton king. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his skeleton king made my pussy batter dribble like a slug in a salt mine. The plowing of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his greasy slimelight deep in my Mavis Fritter. If I don't tune the tuna to get my tuna tunnel tears slobbering from my shamevelope, his gristle missile is going to leave my furburger resembling a stamped bat. It was bliss having his meaty member rammed inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with a squash just didn't get my south mouth spattering like it used to. My penis pothole was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. I can't wait to devour the baby gravy from his chubstep. My mouth was so full of thrill drill and creamy load, the penis pudding was foaming down my chin and onto my cans. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his ample cock soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He copped a giant colon cobra on my droopies just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo.
After having my fuck trench slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my Oxo orifice. There was gentleman's relish seeping from his chorizo howitzer and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Inserting a 9-iron into my stench trench got me spouting fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! He cut a giant stink pickle on my tatas just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. My cake hole was so full of timed slimer and man fat, the ectoplasm was trickling down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his jade rod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and cock custard in my turd cutter created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With his jade rod hammering deep into my herring hole, the sensation of his cunt plunger smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his thrill drill made my fallopian fish stock weep like a slavering dog. I can't wait to chow down on the baby gravy from his gristle missile. With my vertical smile now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start sliding my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my gammon alley still seeping. I thought it was over but his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas. It was bliss having his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus stuffed inside me again; stuffing my chamber of squelch with a number of chillies just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet spraying like it used to. The thrusting of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his bald avenger deep in my poop chute. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot leaking from my puckered brown eye and all over my purple cabbage. If I don't flick the bean to get my tuna tunnel tears sliming from my gashtray, his stilton sword is going to leave my spam castanets resembling a hippo's yawn. When he removed his chubstep from my turd-herder, he was pleasan
tly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the butt nugget off his chubstep. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my salmon slit and my fist up my old dirt road. My meat purse was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bugger king rammed deeper into my brown mile. The raiding makes me spit my shrimp sap all over his washington monument. The unrelenting orgasms from his cervix cigar raiding my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. By now, my spunk dungeon was foaming like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river.
He launched a giant sewer trout on my boobage just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I awoke the next morning with my shamevelope still weeping. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. When he removed his wensleydale wand from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the corn-eyed butt snake off his purple-headed trouser snake. With my velcro triangle now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start sliding my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his balony pony slamming my furry cup made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. The plowing of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his master of ceremonies deep in my soft tight anus. The mixture of stink pickle and love mayonnaise in my other vagina created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. My enchilada of love was trembling like jelly. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy oozing from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my beef curtains. The pounding makes me pour my minge monsoon all over his disco stick. It was bliss having his Nelson's Column shoved inside me again; stuffing my vibration station with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my tuna canal flowing like it used to. With his thrill drill fucking deep into my tampon tunnel, the sensation of his balony pony smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Inserting a number of chillies into my vaginal bacon buffet got me flowing beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his kebeb skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of stilton spear and penis pudding, the man fat was seeping down my chin and onto my chest puppies. After having my quim hammered, he then proceeded to fuck my soft tight anus. By now, my cod cave was leaching like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. 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 ruby cave and a gerbil up my poo pipe. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my pussy batter draining from my penis pothole, his pink tractor beam is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. There was gentleman's relish flowing from his ample cock and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I can't wait to chow down on the love mayonnaise from his Ocean's 11 Inches. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! The feeling of his Da Vinci load leaching down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cervix cigar slid deeper into my old dirt road.
When he removed his bugger king 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 suck the Mr. Hanky off his purple-headed trouser snake. With my vertical smile now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start shoving my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? The feeling of his creamy load frothing down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon shoved deeper into my other vagina. My mouth was so full of cervix cigar and magician's wax, the man fat was dribbling down my chin and onto my breasticles. After having my one slice toaster slammed, he then proceeded to slam my old dirt road. My soft-shelled tuna taco was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his chorizo howitzer made my sex wee leak like a hungry pig at a trough. Inserting a squash into my vibration station got me splurging spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. It was bliss having his veiny quim prod probed inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia canal with a number of chillies just didn't get my fuck trench spritzing like it used to. He pitched a giant colon cobra on my chest puppies just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! There was penis pudding leaching from his cunt stretcher and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The slamming of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his bald avenger deep in my old dirt road. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my quim and a squash up my chocolate starfish. If I don't buff the muff to get my beige slime weeping from my clam-flavoured pothole, his blue-veined custard chucker is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a stuntman's knee. The mixture of sewer trout and ectoplasm in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. By now, my spunk dungeon was dripping like a George Foreman grill. With his chorizo howitzer slamming deep into my stench trench, the sensation of his Nelson's Column smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. I can't wait to suck the man fat from his bugger king. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his huge penis soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The raiding makes me eject my pussy batter all over his tallywacker. The unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper plowing my gammon alley made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load flowing from my brown eye and all over my hairy goblet.
The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his giggle stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his chubstep slamming my mound of love pudding made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. There was man fat slobbering from his womb raider and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. My meat purse was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy weeping from my old dirt road and all over my velcro triangle. The thrusting of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my marmite motorway. My cake hole was so full of disco stick and man fat, the ectoplasm was seeping down my chin and onto my rack. The plowing makes me spray my vertical moisture all over his devil's bagpipe. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blind butler rammed deeper into my marmite motorway. I can't wait to chow down on the gentleman's relish from his tallywacker. He crowned a giant toilet twinkie on my chesticles just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. By now, my spunk dungeon was flowing like a jizz waterfall. If I don't flick the bean to get my shrimp sap slobbering from my meat purse, his muffbuster is going to leave my panty hamster resembling Terry Waite's allotment. The mixture of butt nugget and magician's wax in my turd cutter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. When he removed his wensleydale wand from m
y chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the sewer trout off his thrill drill. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my fuck trench and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my balloon knot. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start ramming my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a butt nugget, I wondered? Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my sperm socket got me splurging flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his skin flute plowing deep into my calamari cockring, the sensation of his jade rod smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his ample cock made my minge monsoon trickle like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. The feeling of his cock snot slobbering down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his timed slimer shoved inside me again; stuffing my bearded haddock pasty with a barbie doll just didn't get my depravity cavity surging like it used to. After having my cod cave plowed, he then proceeded to pound my brown eye. I awoke the next morning with my stench trench still dribbling. I thought it was over but his balony pony had other ideas.
