by Amy Woods
I can't wait to suck the steamin' semen from his slut slayer. I awoke the next morning with my fuck trench still oozing. I thought it was over but his veiny quim prod had other ideas. With my meaty hangers now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start ramming my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a colon cobra, I wondered? My mouth was so full of tenderloin truncheon and ectoplasm, the cock snot was slobbering down my chin and onto my twin peaks. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my shame portal and a number of chillies up my marmite motorway. The unrelenting orgasms from his womb ferret thrusting my clam-flavoured pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his spunk-filled spam rocket made my shrimp sap drip like a hungry pig at a trough. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and love mayonnaise in my shit winker created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The raiding of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his chubstep deep in my brown eye. When he removed his spam dagger from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the butt nugget off his wrist-thick wand. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his purple-headed trouser snake soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my cod canyon was dribbling like a slug in a salt mine. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! He pinched off a giant colon cobra on my fiery biscuits just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. After having my cum dumpster hammered, he then proceeded to plow my mud flap. There was magician's wax leaching from his sperminator and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The feeling of his ectoplasm haemorrhaging down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Nelson's Column shoved deeper into my fart valve. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding flowing from my mud flap and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. It was bliss having his cheese-crusted cock slid inside me again; stuffing my frilling pink golf bag with a 9-iron just didn't get my fuck trench pouring like it used to. If I don't finger blast to get my spaff seeping from my whispering eye, his brie baton is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. With his vein cane hammering deep into my clunge pool, the sensation of his one-eyed monster smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. Inserting my fist into my vibration station got me ejecting flange custard faster than snot off a whip. My ground zero grotto was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love muscle slid deeper into my old dirt road. My throat was so full of piss pipe and magician's wax, the Da Vinci load was oozing down my chin and onto my tatas. The fucking of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his turgid terror truncheon deep in my turd-herder. I can't wait to chow down on the cock custard from his purple-headed trouser snake. If I don't finger blast to get my sex wee haemorrhaging from my vibration station, his tallywacker is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a horse's collar. With my panty hamster now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start stuffing my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and steamin' semen in my poo pipe created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. My wunder down under was trembling like jelly. When he removed his battering ram from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the sewer trout off his stilton spear. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard frothing from my turd-herder and all over my meaty hangers. By now, my one slice toaster was oozing like a leaky tap. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my chlamydia canal and an antique doorknob up my old dirt road. After having my slime hole plowed, he then proceeded to raid my brown mile. The thrusting makes me gush my clunge gunge all over his brie baton. The unrelenting orgasms from his blue-veined custard chucker thrusting my frilling pink golf bag made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. I awoke the next morning with my spunk dungeon still weeping. I thought it was over but his cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his cheese-crusted cock made my shrimp sap ooze like a broken fridge freezer. With his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus slamming deep into my Quimcy, M.E., the sensation of his vein cane smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The feeling of his love piss flowing down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. There was creamy load weeping from his pink tractor beam and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his devil's bagpipe stuffed inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity with a 9-iron just didn't get my Quimcy, M.E. pouring like it used to. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Inserting a barbie doll into my cock holster got me gushing pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. He launched a giant butt nugget on my tatas just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge.
The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his turgid terror truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He cut a giant stink pickle on my chesticles just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. I can't wait to lap the creamy load from his purple beaver buster. The pounding makes me eject my clunge gunge all over his mutton dagger. With my panty hamster now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start sliding my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a stink pickle, I wondered? Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! By now, my meat purse was flowing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy kebab skewer fucking my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. My throat was so full of cunt stretcher and gentleman's relish, the ectoplasm was weeping down my chin and onto my chest puppies. Inserting a number of chillies into my furry cup got me spritzing spaff faster than snot off a whip. When he removed his balony pony from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the toilet twinkie off his womb raider. The thrusting of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his ample cock deep in my soft tight anus. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm frothing from my fart valve and all over my vertical smile. My chamber of squelch was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. There was Da Vinci load frothing from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. After having my wunder down under raided, he then proceeded to thrust my balloon knot. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his ramrod made my minge mucus seep like a slug in a salt mine. I awoke the next morning with my municipal cockwash still dribbling. I thought it was over but his jebend had other ideas. With his spam dagger thrusting deep into my cum dumpster, the sensation of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my chamber of squelch and a lightbulb
up my Mavis Fritter. The feeling of his steamin' semen draining down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his devil's bagpipe probed inside me again; stuffing my ladytown with a barbie doll just didn't get my cock holster flowing like it used to. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and love piss in my tradesman's entrance 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 greasy kebab skewer stuffed deeper into my poo pipe. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week.
Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm seeping from my shit winker and all over my flappy meal. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb raider stuffed deeper into my ring piece. With my hairy goblet now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start ramming my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? The feeling of his penis pudding oozing down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my tuna canal still trickling. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his meaty member soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his muffbuster from my mud flap, 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 womb raider. I can't wait to devour the Da Vinci load from his ample cock. After having my vibration station plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my soft tight anus. The slamming of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his chorizo howitzer deep in my fart valve. 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 one slice toaster and a lightbulb up my Mavis Fritter. If I don't fluff the muff to get my pussy batter dripping from my tuna canal, his huge penis is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling badly battered road kill. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed monster thrusting my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and man fat in my poo pipe created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his devil's bagpipe made my tuna tunnel tears foam like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. By now, my chamber of squelch was foaming like a leaky tap. It was bliss having his purple beaver buster probed inside me again; stuffing my clunge pool with a barbie doll just didn't get my birth cannon spritzing like it used to. My hatchet wound was trembling like a shitting dog. With his muffbuster hammering deep into my wizards sleeve, the sensation of his gristle missile smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The thrusting makes me spritz my clunge gunge all over his vein cane. There was magician's wax oozing from his wrist-thick wand and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Inserting a lightbulb into my ladytown got me squirting sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. My mouth was so full of balony pony and cock custard, the creamy load was weeping down my chin and onto my sweater puppies.
It was bliss having his bald avenger plunged inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my carp cavity surging like it used to. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! My slime hole was trembling like a rat on acid. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his giggle stick made my spaff ooze like a jizz waterfall. Inserting a number of chillies into my split peach got me pouring minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The feeling of his cock custard leaching down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The thrusting makes me spout my shrimp sap all over his gristle missile. After having my hot pocket pounded, he then proceeded to pound my brown mile. The plowing of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his veiny quim prod deep in my turd-herder. With his turgid terror truncheon hammering deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his ample cock smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. If I don't play the clitar to get my minge monsoon leaking from my whispering eye, his love muscle is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling Pete Burns' lips. The unrelenting orgasms from his cumtree thrusting my slime hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. With my vertical smile now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start probing my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a toilet twinkie, I wondered? I can't wait to devour the love piss from his spunk-filled spam rocket. There was baby gravy leaking from his vein cane and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. When he removed his balony pony 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 chow down on the sewer trout off his wrist-thick wand. He cut a giant butt nugget on my breasticles just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his disco stick shoved deeper into my poop chute. I awoke the next morning with my gashtray still draining. I thought it was over but his womb ferret had other ideas. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my one slice toaster and a barbie doll up my Oxo orifice. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and penis pudding in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. By now, my cock holster was weeping like a hungry pig at a trough. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen slobbering from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my meaty hangers. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. My throat was so full of Nelson's Column and cock snot, the baby gravy was weeping down my chin and onto my tatas.
The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and man fat in my chocolate starfish created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! Inserting a gerbil into my birth cannon got me splurging shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. 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 birth cannon and my fist up my brown eye. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam javelin raiding my frilling pink golf bag made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. With my piss flaps now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a butt nugget, I wondered? The hammering makes me gush my shrimp sap all over his blind butler. I can't wait to chow down on the ectoplasm from his long-dong silver. The thrusting of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his all-beef thermometer deep in my Mavis Fritter. My clearing in the woods was trembling like jelly. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. If I don't flick the bean to get my vertical moisture trickling from my stench trench, his muffbuster is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a badly wrapped kebab. My cake hole was so full of throbbing quim dagger and ectoplasm, the Da Vinci load was sliming down my chin and onto my tatas. The feeling of his Da Vinci load trickling down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip. When he removed his love lollipop from my black hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the butt nugget off his giggle stick. Within no time, I could fee
l the shitty cock snot frothing from my poop chute and all over my fishy flaps. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his blind butler soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was baby gravy seeping from his greasy kebab skewer and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt stretcher plunged deeper into my old dirt road. I awoke the next morning with my slime hole still dribbling. I thought it was over but his chorizo howitzer had other ideas. He copped a giant stink pickle on my love bubbles just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. By now, my fuck trench was leaking like a slug in a salt mine. With his skin flute thrusting deep into my hatchet wound, the sensation of his bald-headed yogurt slinger smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his jade rod made my vertical moisture drip like a slug in a salt mine. It was bliss having his love muscle probed inside me again; stuffing my whispering eye with a number of chillies just didn't get my bearded haddock pasty spouting like it used to.
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 gashtray and an antique doorknob up my cocoa channel. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his tallywacker soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his love muscle made my pussy batter drain like a broken fridge freezer. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his brie baton plunged deeper into my brown eye. Inserting an egg timer into my gashtray got me squirting sex wee faster than snot off a whip. By now, my clam-flavoured pothole was slobbering like a slug in a salt mine. The mixture of butt nugget and penis pudding in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon stuffed inside me again; stuffing my south mouth with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my kipper dinghy flowing like it used to. With my vertical smile now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start shoving my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? My gammon alley was trembling like a shitting dog. When he removed his ramrod from my balloon knot, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the toilet twinkie off his cunt stretcher. The feeling of his ectoplasm weeping down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was penis pudding haemorrhaging from his cervix cigar and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my quim still draining. I thought it was over but his skin flute had other ideas. If I don't tune the tuna to get my minge mucus haemorrhaging from my ground zero grotto, his vein cane is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a horse's collar. The fucking makes me flow my flange custard all over his womb ferret. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. The hammering of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his cheese-crusted cock deep in my rusty bullet hole. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! He dropped a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my love bubbles just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. After having my chlamydia canal plowed, he then proceeded to slam my rusty bullet hole. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple beaver buster thrusting my tampon tunnel made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. With his womb ferret raiding deep into my mound of love pudding, the sensation of his jebend smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. My throat was so full of womb ferret and gentleman's relish, the steamin' semen was flowing down my chin and onto my chest puppies. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy trickling from my Mavis Fritter and all over my spam castanets.
