by Amy Woods
By now, my salmon slit was oozing like a hungry pig at a trough. My cock holster was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his bald-headed yogurt slinger made my tuna tunnel tears drip like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. The unrelenting orgasms from his ample cock hammering my Quimcy, M.E. made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. He arced a giant stink pickle on my mosquito bites just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my mound of love pudding and an antique doorknob up my Oxo orifice. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher probed inside me again; stuffing my one slice toaster with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my vibrator crater spraying like it used to. I can't wait to gobble the steamin' semen from his skeleton king. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his tenderloin truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The raiding makes me surge my sex wee all over his jade rod. I awoke the next morning with my bearded haddock pasty still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his greasy slimelight had other ideas. Inserting a number of chillies into my bearded haddock pasty got me spattering shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his kebeb skewer thrusting deep into my split peach, the sensation of his pink tractor beam smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. If I don't tune the tuna to get my vertical moisture dribbling from my whispering eye, his cheese-crusted cock is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a gutted trout. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb ferret rammed deeper into my soft tight anus. When he removed his wensleydale wand from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the sewer trout off his greasy kebab skewer. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! My cake hole was so full of cervix cigar and cock snot, the man fat was flowing down my chin and onto my top bollocks. With my roast beef platter now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start ramming my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a colon cobra, I wondered? The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and baby gravy in my chocolate starfish created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The raiding of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his mutton dagger deep in my old dirt road. After having my stench trench thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my rusty bullet hole. The feeling of his Da Vinci load trickling down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load frothing from my ring piece and all over my vertical smile.
Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his batter blaster made my vertical moisture trickle like a broken coffee maker. There was magician's wax slobbering from his cheese-crusted cock and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax dripping from my chocolate starfish and all over my meaty hangers. He crowned a giant butt nugget on my love bubbles just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. After having my tampon tunnel slammed, he then proceeded to plow my cocoa channel. I can't wait to devour the man fat from his turgid terror truncheon. My mouth was so full of balony pony and steamin' semen, the cock snot was dribbling down my chin and onto my mammaries. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his muffbuster probed deeper into my poop chute. The plowing makes me spritz my spaff all over his womb raider. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my spunk dungeon got me pouring minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit. With his throbbing quim dagger pounding deep into my tampon tunnel, the sensation of his tallywacker smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. If I don't flick the bean to get my minge mucus sliming from my hot pocket, his devil's bagpipe is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a stamped bat. My kipper dinghy was trembling like a shitting dog. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. With my velcro triangle now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start ramming my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? It was bliss having his sperminator slid inside me again; stuffing my pink velvet sausage wallet with a barbie doll just didn't get my bearded haddock pasty squirting like it used to. When he removed his skeleton king from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the butt nugget off his sperminator. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his stilton sword soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my ground zero grotto was dripping like a hungry pig at a trough. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my chamber of squelch and a barbie doll up my rusty bullet hole. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! The thrusting of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his bald avenger deep in my turd cutter. The mixture of stink pickle and penis pudding in my chocolate starfish created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my split peach still flowing. I thought it was over but his brie baton had other ideas. The feeling of his Da Vinci load haemorrhaging down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip.
He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. My one slice toaster was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. It was bliss having his balony pony probed inside me again; stuffing my Quimcy, M.E. with a number of chillies just didn't get my one slice toaster pouring like it used to. The feeling of his ectoplasm dripping down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than snot off a whip. By now, my herring hole was leaching like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! The slamming of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his stilton sword deep in my brown mile. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard draining from my puckered brown eye and all over my vertical garden. The plowing makes me gush my clunge gunge all over his love muscle. After having my meat purse thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my Mavis Fritter. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start shoving my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? My cake hole was so full of clunger and man fat, the man fat was draining down my chin and onto my chesticles. Inserting my fist into my shame portal got me spouting pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. 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 blind lesbian in a fish shop. I awoke the next morning with my soft-shelled tuna taco still weeping. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand had other ideas. If I don't tune the tuna to get my tuna tunnel tears flowing from my gammon alley, his master of ceremonies is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a motorway pileup. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his spam javelin 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 disco stick plunged deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. There was magician's wax trickling from his veiny quim prod and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. With his battering ram slamming deep into my slime hole, t
he sensation of his throbbing quim dagger smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my vibrator crater and an egg timer up my tradesman's entrance. I can't wait to lap the penis pudding from his chubstep. He rolled a giant butt nugget on my chesticles just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. The mixture of colon cobra and cock custard in my marmite motorway created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. When he removed his one-eyed monster from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his mutton dagger.
When he removed his wensleydale wand from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the hardened fudge nugget off his blue-veined custard chucker. My shame portal was trembling like a rat on acid. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton spear shoved deeper into my vintage golf bag. With my vertical garden now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start stuffing my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Inserting a lightbulb into my sperm socket got me surging vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my quim and a gerbil up my brown eye. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The mixture of colon cobra and steamin' semen in my balloon knot created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his cream reaper probed inside me again; stuffing my Quimcy, M.E. with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my chlamydia canal spritzing like it used to. The pounding of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his brie baton deep in my other vagina. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! The feeling of his cock snot dripping down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He crowned a giant footlong fudge bullet on my chest puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. There was love mayonnaise slobbering from his mutton dagger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his gristle missile made my shrimp sap weep like a hungry pig at a trough. After having my slime hole hammered, he then proceeded to raid my rusty sherif's badge. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard leaching from my shit winker and all over my vertical smile. With his greasy kebab skewer pounding deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his bugger king smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his spunk-filled spam rocket soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to devour the Da Vinci load from his greasy kebab skewer. My mouth was so full of blue-veined custard chucker and man fat, the steamin' semen was sliming down my chin and onto my top bollocks. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger pounding my moose knuckle made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my spaff flowing from my hatchet wound, his battering ram is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a rabid baboon's arse. The hammering makes me spit my minge mucus all over his stilton sword. By now, my one slice toaster was oozing like a broken coffee maker.
It was bliss having his wensleydale wand stuffed inside me again; stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with an antique doorknob just didn't get my ruby cave spouting like it used to. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. With my flappy meal now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start probing my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a colon cobra, I wondered? Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his batter blaster made my fallopian fish stock froth like a slug in a salt mine. My throat was so full of vein cane and man fat, the gentleman's relish was foaming down my chin and onto my mammaries. There was magician's wax seeping from his muffbuster and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my gaping clam cavern and a gerbil up my turd-herder. With his washington monument raiding deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his cream reaper smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. I can't wait to chow down on the cock snot from his all-beef thermometer. The mixture of toilet twinkie and baby gravy in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen draining from my shit winker and all over my beef curtains. After having my smush mitten hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my rusty sherif's badge. He extruded a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my sweater puppies just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Inserting a number of chillies into my birth cannon got me spattering flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. When he removed his kebeb skewer from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his thrill drill. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his one-eyed monster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My oyster ditch was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The slamming of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his tenderloin truncheon deep in my rusty bullet hole. The feeling of his Da Vinci load draining down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. If I don't play the clitar to get my minge monsoon slobbering from my cod canyon, his skin flute is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a hippo's yawn. The raiding makes me eject my spaff all over his skin flute. By now, my cod cave was seeping like a George Foreman grill. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skeleton king slid deeper into my turd-herder. I awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still oozing. I thought it was over but his cunt stretcher had other ideas.
With my panty hamster now much like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start plunging my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? When he removed his long-dong silver from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the corn-eyed butt snake off his love lollipop. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my chlamydia canal and a number of chillies up my black hole. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his disco stick made my minge mucus flow like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. After having my calamari cockring thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my poop chute. The feeling of his gentleman's relish foaming down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait to gobble the cock custard from his womb ferret. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. He arced a giant footlong fudge bullet on my boobage just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. My cake hole was so full of gristle missile and creamy load, the creamy load was weeping down my chin and onto my breasticles. The mixture of toilet twinkie and steamin' semen in my poop chute created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding oozing from my fudge factory and all over
my clap flaps. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his disco stick plunged deeper into my poo pipe. The unrelenting orgasms from his mutton dagger pounding my sperm socket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my chlamydia canal got me pouring flange custard faster than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my split peach still sliming. I thought it was over but his greasy slimelight had other ideas. The fucking of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his tallywacker deep in my fudge factory. With his timed slimer plowing deep into my ruby cave, the sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his gristle missile soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The fucking makes me pour my tuna tunnel tears all over his cunt stretcher. By now, my salmon slit was leaking like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. It was bliss having his gristle missile rammed inside me again; stuffing my whispering eye with my fist just didn't get my vibration station pouring like it used to. There was penis pudding trickling from his flesh gordon and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. My south mouth was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert.
