by Amy Woods
The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his pink tractor beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was cock snot dripping from his spam javelin and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his disco stick plunged deeper into my brown mile. He arced a giant colon cobra on my top bollocks just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My split peach was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. I awoke the next morning with my fuck trench still leaking. I thought it was over but his sperminator had other ideas. The hammering of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his ramrod deep in my Mavis Fritter. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot flowing from my turd cutter and all over my furburger. By now, my shamevelope was trickling like a jizz waterfall. My mouth was so full of flesh gordon and baby gravy, the magician's wax was flowing down my chin and onto my chest puppies. The feeling of his cock snot draining down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. If I don't finger blast to get my tuna tunnel tears foaming from my salmon slit, his flesh gordon is going to leave my spam castanets resembling Brian May's plughole. I can't wait to consume the gentleman's relish from his spam dagger. With my piss flaps now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start plunging my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a colon cobra, I wondered? It was bliss having his purple-headed trouser snake shoved inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with my fist just didn't get my municipal cockwash ejecting like it used to. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my front bum and a lightbulb up my ring piece. After having my cod canyon raided, he then proceeded to slam my poop chute. When he removed his thrill drill from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his greasy kebab skewer. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his love muscle made my fallopian fish stock slime like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and ectoplasm in my black hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. With his ample cock slamming deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his tallywacker smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The hammering makes me spout my spaff all over his love lollipop. The unrelenting orgasms from his all-beef thermometer thrusting my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. Inserting a 9-iron into my ground zero grotto got me spraying flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit.
With his jebend plowing deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his spunk-filled spam rocket smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his cumtree soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his love piss flowing down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to consume the creamy load from his cumtree. When he removed his tenderloin truncheon from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the Mr. Hanky off his disco stick. I awoke the next morning with my wizards sleeve still flowing. I thought it was over but his spam dagger had other ideas. The plowing makes me splurge my fallopian fish stock all over his wrist-thick wand. My cake hole was so full of tallywacker and ectoplasm, the creamy load was slobbering down my chin and onto my tatas. By now, my stench trench was seeping like a leaky tap. The pounding of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his Ocean's 11 Inches deep in my tradesman's entrance. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his sperminator made my flange custard flow like a rabid dog. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my beige slime dripping from my gammon alley, his meaty member is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling that bathroom door in The Shining. There was Da Vinci load weeping from his ample cock and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! After having my tuna canal plowed, he then proceeded to slam my marmite motorway. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding draining from my turd-herder and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. 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 fuck trench and an egg timer up my brown mile. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and Da Vinci load in my marmite motorway created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He copped a giant toilet twinkie on my rack just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. The unrelenting orgasms from his kebeb skewer plowing my quim made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. My wizards sleeve was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. With my clap flaps now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start sliding my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a sewer trout, I wondered? It was bliss having his kebeb skewer shoved inside me again; stuffing my cod cave with a number of chillies just didn't get my ground zero grotto spattering like it used to. Inserting an egg timer into my gammon alley got me flowing minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
The plowing makes me spit my fallopian fish stock all over his love lollipop. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his balony pony made my beige slime drain like a hungry pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my salmon slit still leaking. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had other ideas. The feeling of his man fat foaming down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The unrelenting orgasms from his meaty member slamming my cum dumpster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. With his spam dagger pounding deep into my clunge pool, the sensation of his ramrod smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! My mouth was so full of tallywacker and magician's wax, the ectoplasm was dribbling down my chin and onto my superdroopers. Inserting a lightbulb into my municipal cockwash got me spouting shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my vibration station pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my turd-herder. I can't wait to lap the gentleman's relish from his greasy slimelight. He pinched off a giant hardened fudge nugget on my droopies just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen dripping from my turd cutter and all over my meaty hangers. By now, my meat purse was leaking like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cervix cigar shoved deeper into my vintage golf bag. 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 hatchet wound and a 15" spiked vibrator up my mud flap. The thrusting of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his cervix cigar deep in my rusty bullet hole. My south mouth was trembling like a rat on acid. There was penis pudding trickling from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The mixture of stink pickle and magician's wax in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my beige slime frothing from my municipal cockwash, his veiny quim prod is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a badly wrapped kebab. When he removed his turgid terror trunch
eon from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his muffbuster. It was bliss having his bugger king probed inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam cavern with a number of chillies just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet squirting like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his one-eyed monster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my panty hamster now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start sliding my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a butt nugget, I wondered?
If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my sex wee trickling from my quim, his purple beaver buster is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling badly battered road kill. The feeling of his Da Vinci load leaking down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was Da Vinci load dribbling from his purple beaver buster and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. With his balony pony hammering deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his spam javelin smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The plowing of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon deep in my rusty sherif's badge. Inserting a barbie doll into my front bum got me gushing sex wee faster than snot off a whip. My mouth was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and love piss, the man fat was draining down my chin and onto my breasticles. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his cunt stretcher soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen flowing from my rusty bullet hole and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. By now, my gaping clam cavern was flowing like a broken coffee maker. I can't wait to suck the steamin' semen from his mutton dagger. He launched a giant toilet twinkie on my tatas just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. When he removed his sperminator from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the colon cobra off his cumtree. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed milkman raiding my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! After having my vibrator crater hammered, he then proceeded to thrust my Mavis Fritter. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my furry cup and my fist up my Mavis Fritter. My cod cave was trembling like jelly. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his skeleton king made my fallopian fish stock froth like a broken coffee maker. The mixture of stink pickle and love piss in my turd-herder created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his throbbing quim dagger stuffed deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. It was bliss having his Ocean's 11 Inches shoved inside me again; stuffing my cod crater with a number of chillies just didn't get my vibration station splurging like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my slime hole still draining. I thought it was over but his womb raider had other ideas. With my beef curtains now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start plunging my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a sewer trout, I wondered?
The pounding makes me gush my minge mucus all over his piss pipe. It was bliss having his wensleydale wand probed inside me again; stuffing my hatchet wound with a squash just didn't get my shame portal pouring like it used to. Inserting a squash into my whispering eye got me spattering fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of toilet twinkie and creamy load in my balloon knot created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. My depravity cavity was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. My cake hole was so full of muffbuster and creamy load, the cock custard was draining down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat trickling from my vintage golf bag and all over my panty hamster. When he removed his stilton sword from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the hardened fudge nugget off his slut slayer. After having my spunk dungeon thrusted, he then proceeded to fuck my chocolate starfish. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my one slice toaster and my fist up my marmite motorway. If I don't fluff the muff to get my spaff flowing from my cod crater, his battering ram is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a rabid baboon's arse. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! The feeling of his penis pudding haemorrhaging down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring still dripping. I thought it was over but his jebend had other ideas. He launched a giant toilet twinkie on my rack just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jebend rammed deeper into my fudge factory. With his spam dagger fucking deep into my carp cavity, the sensation of his battering ram smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus made my minge mucus slobber like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. I can't wait to consume the man fat from his thrill drill. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald-headed yogurt slinger hammering my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. There was ectoplasm weeping from his thrill drill and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his huge penis soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my whispering eye was weeping like a George Foreman grill. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. The slamming of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his kebeb skewer deep in my other vagina.
When he removed his skin flute from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the stink pickle off his sperminator. By now, my mound of love pudding was flowing like a rabid dog. I can't wait to chow down on the penis pudding from his spunk-filled spam rocket. The feeling of his ectoplasm leaking down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than snot off a whip. After having my south mouth pounded, he then proceeded to slam my brown mile. He eased out a giant Mr. Hanky on my sweater puppies just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my salmon slit and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my marmite motorway. With his throbbing quim dagger pounding deep into my hatchet wound, the sensation of his wrist-thick wand smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his spam dagger made my shrimp sap foam like a broken coffee maker. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat oozing from my marmite motorway and all over my spam castanets. It was bliss having his spam dagger probed inside me again; stuffing my meat purse with a gerbil just didn't get my depravity cavity pouring like it used to. The plowing of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his mutton dagger deep in my mud flap. I awoke the next morning with my shame portal still foaming. I thought it was over but his mutton dagger had other ideas. The mixture of corn-eyed
butt snake and cock custard in my other vagina created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. With my spam castanets now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start stuffing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a stink pickle, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jebend rammed deeper into my shit winker. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my vertical moisture leaching from my hot pocket, his greasy kebab skewer is going to leave my vertical garden resembling the Japanese flag. My throat was so full of mutton dagger and Da Vinci load, the man fat was dribbling down my chin and onto my superdroopers. The unrelenting orgasms from his cheese-crusted cock hammering my sperm socket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. There was cock custard leaching from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his washington monument soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. Inserting a lightbulb into my fuck gutter got me surging flange custard faster than snot off a whip. My cod cave was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver.
