by Amy Woods
Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his ample cock made my minge mucus drip like a slug in a salt mine. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! It was bliss having his tallywacker probed inside me again; stuffing my depravity cavity with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my chlamydia canal spouting like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load trickling from my Mavis Fritter and all over my flappy meal. There was ectoplasm sliming from his blind butler and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. My mouth was so full of womb raider and creamy load, the ectoplasm was foaming down my chin and onto my mammaries. I awoke the next morning with my vaginal bacon buffet still foaming. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. My gaping clam cavern was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my clunge pool got me pouring fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. With his Ocean's 11 Inches pounding deep into my vibrator crater, the sensation of his spam javelin smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his gristle missile soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my vertical smile now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start sliding my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his kebeb skewer thrusting my clunge pool made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. I can't wait to devour the steamin' semen from his long-dong silver. The raiding of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his purple-headed trouser snake deep in my brown eye. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his disco stick slid deeper into my marmite motorway. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my cum dumpster and a 15" spiked vibrator up my soft tight anus. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The feeling of his man fat leaking down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his disco stick from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his cervix cigar. By now, my split peach was frothing like a jizz waterfall. The fucking makes me squirt my tuna tunnel tears all over his washington monument. After having my bearded haddock pasty pounded, he then proceeded to pound my brown eye. He curled a giant colon cobra on my fiery biscuits just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my shrimp sap haemorrhaging from my chlamydia canal, his meaty member is going to leave my clap flaps resembling badly battered road kill.
There was baby gravy dripping from his piss pipe and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax trickling from my vintage golf bag and all over my furburger. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! By now, my moose knuckle was trickling like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his clunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my spam castanets now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start probing my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a butt nugget, I wondered? With his sperminator raiding deep into my cod canyon, the sensation of his spam javelin smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. After having my oyster ditch plowed, he then proceeded to plow my ring piece. The slamming of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his stilton spear deep in my cocoa channel. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my enchilada of love still sliming. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. It was bliss having his ample cock shoved inside me again; stuffing my vibrator crater with an antique doorknob just didn't get my fuck trench spouting like it used to. The mixture of butt nugget and gentleman's relish in my poo pipe created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He arced a giant Mr. Hanky on my boobage just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. I can't wait to suck the gentleman's relish from his mutton dagger. My mouth was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and cock snot, the ectoplasm was seeping down my chin and onto my chesticles. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his throbbing quim dagger made my beige slime dribble like a slavering dog. The feeling of his penis pudding leaking down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The pounding makes me squirt my clunge gunge all over his blind butler. My clearing in the woods was trembling like jelly. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb raider shoved deeper into my turd-herder. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my shame portal and a squash up my rusty bullet hole. When he removed his womb raider from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his womb ferret. The unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver raiding my smush mitten made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my split peach got me spritzing minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit.
My mound of love pudding was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. It was bliss having his tallywacker slid inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with a 9-iron just didn't get my oyster ditch spritzing like it used to. By now, my municipal cockwash was slobbering like a leaky tap. I can't wait to suck the cock snot from his greasy kebab skewer. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his one-eyed monster made my tuna tunnel tears trickle like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen haemorrhaging from my other vagina and all over my velcro triangle. My cake hole was so full of mutton dagger and cock custard, the love mayonnaise was slobbering down my chin and onto my twin peaks. Inserting a gerbil into my ground zero grotto got me splurging pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his chubstep from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the Mr. Hanky off his skin flute. The mixture of stink pickle and Da Vinci load in my balloon knot created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my fallopian fish stock flowing from my clam-flavoured pothole, his spam dagger is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a gutted trout. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his veiny quim prod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was magician's wax sliming from his sperminator and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my bearded haddock pasty and a lightbulb up my ring piece. The fucking makes me flood my vertical moisture all over his purple-headed trouser snake. The feeling of his magician's wax dripping down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He eased out a giant stink pickle on my twin peaks just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With my meaty hangers now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The pounding of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his c
ream reaper deep in my shit winker. I awoke the next morning with my furry cup still leaching. I thought it was over but his washington monument had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy kebab skewer thrusting my salmon slit made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. With his gristle missile plowing deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his all-beef thermometer smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skin flute plunged deeper into my puckered brown eye.
The hammering makes me spit my fallopian fish stock all over his tallywacker. The unrelenting orgasms from his skeleton king pounding my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his purple-headed trouser snake rammed deeper into my cocoa channel. I awoke the next morning with my frilling pink golf bag still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his spam javelin had other ideas. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and cock snot in my old dirt road created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. When he removed his womb raider from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the stink pickle off his battering ram. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my ruby cave and an egg timer up my balloon knot. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! By now, my bearded haddock pasty was trickling like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The plowing of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his bald avenger deep in my marmite motorway. I can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his huge penis. My cock holster was trembling like a rat on acid. The feeling of his love piss frothing down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. There was love mayonnaise sliming from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. He blasted a giant footlong fudge bullet on my boobage just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. With my purple cabbage now much like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start sliding my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Inserting a 9-iron into my gammon alley got me spattering beige slime faster than snot off a whip. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his muffbuster made my tuna tunnel tears ooze like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. My cake hole was so full of spam dagger and steamin' semen, the man fat was sliming down my chin and onto my boobage. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his brie baton soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax weeping from my old dirt road and all over my purple cabbage. It was bliss having his cervix cigar plunged inside me again; stuffing my ground zero grotto with a gerbil just didn't get my salmon slit surging like it used to. With his kebeb skewer hammering deep into my salmon slit, the sensation of his kebeb skewer smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my sex wee haemorrhaging from my gammon alley, his greasy slimelight is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a stamped bat.
I can't wait to devour the love mayonnaise from his washington monument. With my furburger now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start sliding my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a colon cobra, I wondered? My tuna canal was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Inserting an antique doorknob into my stench trench got me spraying minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his huge penis stuffed inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity with an antique doorknob just didn't get my cum dumpster ejecting like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise leaching from my fudge factory and all over my meaty hangers. When he removed his gristle missile from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the footlong fudge bullet off his cunt plunger. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his jade rod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his washington monument probed deeper into my mud flap. The slamming of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his batter blaster deep in my rusty sherif's badge. I awoke the next morning with my clam-flavoured pothole still slobbering. I thought it was over but his clunger had other ideas. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and man fat in my fart valve created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his master of ceremonies pounding my vaginal bacon buffet made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. The pounding makes me spit my shrimp sap all over his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. After having my oyster ditch plowed, he then proceeded to hammer my black hole. By now, my gaping clam cavern was foaming like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The feeling of his man fat draining down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. He rolled a giant sewer trout on my top bollocks just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his long-dong silver made my minge monsoon weep like a George Foreman grill. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my clam-flavoured pothole and a squash up my turd cutter. With his one-eyed milkman pounding deep into my split peach, the sensation of his vein cane smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. There was love mayonnaise slobbering from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. My cake hole was so full of cheese-crusted cock and ectoplasm, the creamy load was oozing down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different!
I can't wait to consume the penis pudding from his battering ram. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! Inserting an egg timer into my spunk dungeon got me spritzing fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his spam javelin rammed inside me again; stuffing my wunder down under with a number of chillies just didn't get my clam-flavoured pothole spouting like it used to. My throat was so full of tallywacker and ectoplasm, the penis pudding was foaming down my chin and onto my boobage. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The plowing of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his jebend deep in my turd-herder. With his chubstep hammering deep into my hot pocket, the sensation of his cervix cigar smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. He copped a giant toilet twinkie on my mosquito bites just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With my flappy meal now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start sliding my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a butt nugget, I wondered? The hammering makes me surge my shrimp sap all over his washington monument. My gashtray was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my enchilada of love was dripping like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. After having my gashtray fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my fart valve. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steami
n' semen foaming from my fudge factory and all over my vertical smile. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt plunger probed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his blind butler made my minge monsoon drip like a slug in a salt mine. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my ground zero grotto and a squash up my poop chute. The unrelenting orgasms from his pink tractor beam thrusting my tuna canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. The mixture of sewer trout and Da Vinci load in my other vagina created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't finger blast to get my pussy batter dribbling from my sperm socket, his Nelson's Column is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a gutted trout. The feeling of his man fat foaming down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. When he removed his bugger king from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the butt nugget off his blue-veined custard chucker. There was cock custard dribbling from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more.
