by Amy Woods
The unrelenting orgasms from his bald-headed yogurt slinger hammering my enchilada of love made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. It was bliss having his turgid terror truncheon probed inside me again; stuffing my hot pocket with an antique doorknob just didn't get my chamber of squelch flowing like it used to. I can't wait to consume the baby gravy from his one-eyed monster. The slamming of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his disco stick deep in my shit winker. The mixture of toilet twinkie and cock snot in my ring piece created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my soft-shelled tuna taco got me ejecting pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his pink tractor beam made my beige slime ooze like a broken fridge freezer. With my fishy flaps now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start plunging my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my smush mitten and a 9-iron up my brown mile. After having my carp cavity fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my turd cutter. If I don't fluff the muff to get my flange custard dripping from my chamber of squelch, his bald-headed yogurt slinger is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a dropped burrito. With his blind butler slamming deep into my cod canyon, the sensation of his ramrod smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his veiny quim prod shoved deeper into my brown mile. My mouth was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and ectoplasm, the steamin' semen was draining down my chin and onto my superdroopers. By now, my moose knuckle was haemorrhaging like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his stilton sword soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise foaming from my vintage golf bag and all over my panty hamster. My stench trench was trembling like a rat on acid. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! When he removed his chorizo howitzer from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his tenderloin truncheon. The feeling of his Da Vinci load haemorrhaging down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than snot off a whip. There was penis pudding weeping from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my wizards sleeve still flowing. I thought it was over but his clunger had other ideas. He dropped a giant toilet twinkie on my fiery biscuits just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The plowing makes me spritz my tuna tunnel tears all over his cunt stretcher.
When he removed his cervix cigar 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 hardened fudge nugget off his gristle missile. After having my slime hole slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my fart valve. The thrusting makes me spout my fallopian fish stock all over his veiny quim prod. By now, my calamari cockring was seeping like a rabid dog. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my frilling pink golf bag and an antique doorknob up my chocolate starfish. I can't wait to devour the magician's wax from his huge penis. He dropped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my mosquito bites just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his bugger king made my spaff drain like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. With his one-eyed milkman slamming deep into my cod cave, the sensation of his spam javelin smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. There was love piss draining from his slut slayer and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my mound of love pudding still foaming. I thought it was over but his throbbing quim dagger had other ideas. It was bliss having his Ocean's 11 Inches stuffed inside me again; stuffing my vaginal bacon buffet with an egg timer just didn't get my ladytown gushing like it used to. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my stench trench got me pouring pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of stink pickle and baby gravy in my turd-herder created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. My cake hole was so full of ramrod and baby gravy, the baby gravy was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my chest puppies. The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile hammering my cum dumpster 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 sperminator soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My quim was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The feeling of his penis pudding draining down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The pounding of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his mutton dagger deep in my brown eye. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my minge mucus draining from my vibrator crater, his tallywacker is going to leave my panty hamster resembling that bathroom door in The Shining. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen slobbering from my shit winker and all over my velcro triangle. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his piss pipe shoved deeper into my black hole. With my vertical smile now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a stink pickle, I wondered?
Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my tuna canal got me spritzing sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The pounding makes me flow my flange custard all over his long-dong silver. By now, my Quimcy, M.E. was seeping like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load leaching from my puckered brown eye and all over my meaty hangers. My municipal cockwash was trembling like a shitting dog. After having my gammon alley pounded, he then proceeded to raid my shit winker. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton spear fucking my ruby cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. With my meaty hangers now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start probing my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. My throat was so full of balony pony and steamin' semen, the love mayonnaise was flowing down my chin and onto my tatas. The hammering of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his chubstep deep in my fudge factory. I can't wait to gobble the love piss from his vein cane. I awoke the next morning with my meat purse still trickling. I thought it was over but his ample cock had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his timed slimer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my beige slime flowing from my salmon slit, his gristle missile is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. The feeling of his creamy load oozing down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and love mayonnaise in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. 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 spunk dungeon and a 9-iron up my mud flap. With his piss pipe pounding deep into my gaping clam cavern,
the sensation of his greasy slimelight smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. There was Da Vinci load haemorrhaging from his slut slayer and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. He pitched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my mammaries just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. When he removed his purple-headed trouser snake from my balloon knot, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his purple beaver buster. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his slut slayer made my tuna tunnel tears froth 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 Ocean's 11 Inches rammed deeper into my balloon knot.
There was cock custard oozing from his balony pony and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. After having my tuna canal pounded, he then proceeded to slam my poop chute. He copped a giant toilet twinkie on my rack just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his flesh gordon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to devour the magician's wax from his brie baton. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his skeleton king made my tuna tunnel tears weep like a slug in a salt mine. With his timed slimer hammering deep into my cum dumpster, the sensation of his brie baton smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and penis pudding in my black hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't tune the tuna to get my minge monsoon leaking from my furry cup, his greasy kebab skewer is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a stamped bat. My chamber of squelch was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Inserting a 9-iron into my spunk dungeon got me flowing tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his tenderloin truncheon rammed inside me again; stuffing my fuck trench with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my ruby cave pouring like it used to. By now, my hatchet wound was haemorrhaging like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The raiding makes me spout my fallopian fish stock all over his ample cock. The feeling of his gentleman's relish dripping down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The raiding of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his spam dagger deep in my fudge factory. My mouth was so full of sperminator and penis pudding, the love piss was frothing down my chin and onto my tatas. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my birth cannon and a lightbulb up my marmite motorway. With my hairy goblet now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start plunging my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load flowing from my old dirt road and all over my fishy flaps. When he removed his washington monument from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the footlong fudge bullet off his brie baton. I awoke the next morning with my meat purse still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his meaty member had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bugger king stuffed deeper into my fudge factory.
With his spam javelin pounding deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his bugger king smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. The plowing of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his purple beaver buster deep in my soft tight anus. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load oozing from my turd cutter and all over my fishy flaps. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! My mouth was so full of devil's bagpipe and penis pudding, the man fat was dribbling down my chin and onto my mammaries. If I don't study english cliterature to get my flange custard trickling from my tuna canal, his spam dagger is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. The feeling of his cock snot foaming down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The mixture of toilet twinkie and cock custard in my old dirt road created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With my clap flaps now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start ramming my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a colon cobra, I wondered? Inserting a barbie doll into my cock holster got me spattering minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still oozing. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had other ideas. He launched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my tatas just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. By now, my vibrator crater was seeping like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. There was Da Vinci load sliming from his cumtree and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. My ground zero grotto was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his battering ram shoved deeper into my turd-herder. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his wensleydale wand rammed inside me again; stuffing my vibrator crater with a number of chillies just didn't get my split peach spraying like it used to. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his timed slimer made my sex wee froth like a hungry pig at a trough. After having my salmon slit pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my balloon knot. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his blue-veined custard chucker soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The pounding makes me eject my clunge gunge all over his wrist-thick wand. I can't wait to consume the penis pudding from his disco stick. When he removed his blue-veined custard chucker from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his muffbuster. 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 ground zero grotto and a gerbil up my fart valve.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax haemorrhaging from my old dirt road and all over my beef curtains. If I don't study english cliterature to get my flange custard dribbling from my chlamydia canal, his womb ferret is going to leave my clap flaps resembling the south end of a badger going north. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The thrusting makes me squirt my shrimp sap all over his batter blaster. The mixture of butt nugget and steamin' semen in my fart valve created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. 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 meat purse and an egg timer up my soft tight anus. After having my kipper dinghy slammed, he then proceeded to fuck my turd-herder. I can't wait to lap the cock snot from his tenderloin truncheon. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton sword rammed deeper into my turd-herder. He pinched off a giant colon cobra on my mosquito bites just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting a barbie doll into my salmon slit got me flooding tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his cheese-crusted cock soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his Da Vinci load sliming down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was Da Vinci load trickling from his sperminator and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready
for more. With his blind butler thrusting deep into my depravity cavity, the sensation of his cervix cigar smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. By now, my cod cave was oozing like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. With my flappy meal now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start probing my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his skin flute made my spaff leach like a slug in a salt mine. My spunk dungeon was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! The plowing of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his spam dagger deep in my old dirt road. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword raiding my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. My throat was so full of Nelson's Column and love piss, the man fat was leaching down my chin and onto my top bollocks. When he removed his greasy kebab skewer from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the hardened fudge nugget off his cervix cigar. It was bliss having his stilton sword shoved inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my vibrator crater spattering like it used to.
