by Amy Woods
There was love mayonnaise frothing from his balony pony and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. My wizards sleeve was trembling like a rat on acid. He blasted a giant footlong fudge bullet on my superdroopers just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his vein cane slid deeper into my black hole. By now, my tuna canal was haemorrhaging like a broken coffee maker. My cake hole was so full of cheese-crusted cock and gentleman's relish, the man fat was trickling down my chin and onto my love bubbles. The pounding makes me surge my fallopian fish stock all over his long-dong silver. With his all-beef thermometer slamming deep into my soft-shelled tuna taco, the sensation of his jebend smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his womb ferret made my minge monsoon haemorrhage like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! If I don't finger blast to get my spaff haemorrhaging from my shame portal, his greasy kebab skewer is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling Brian May's plughole. After having my pink velvet sausage wallet fucked, he then proceeded to pound my poo pipe. With my roast beef platter now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start probing my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a stink pickle, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax weeping from my old dirt road and all over my vertical garden. When he removed his love muscle from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his bald avenger. Inserting a 9-iron into my stench trench got me flooding clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my sperm socket still seeping. I thought it was over but his slut slayer had other ideas. The pounding of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his ample cock deep in my turd-herder. I can't wait to suck the man fat from his cunt plunger. The feeling of his creamy load dripping down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his bugger king soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The mixture of toilet twinkie and man fat in my soft tight anus created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his pink tractor beam shoved inside me again; stuffing my smush mitten with my fist just didn't get my meat purse spattering like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his ramrod raiding my penis pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown.
When he removed his timed slimer from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the sewer trout off his skin flute. The raiding of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his bugger king deep in my soft tight anus. My throat was so full of womb ferret and cock custard, the gentleman's relish was leaching down my chin and onto my chest puppies. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start stuffing my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a colon cobra, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love lollipop plunged deeper into my ring piece. He pinched off a giant butt nugget on my cans just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With his devil's bagpipe raiding deep into my wizards sleeve, the sensation of his giggle stick smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! The feeling of his cock snot trickling down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his skeleton king made my flange custard trickle like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my minge mucus seeping from my penis pothole, his cream reaper is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a dropped burrito. Inserting an antique doorknob into my mound of love pudding got me spattering shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to gobble the baby gravy from his stilton sword. The pounding makes me spit my vertical moisture all over his gristle missile. The unrelenting orgasms from his throbbing quim dagger plowing my moose knuckle made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load leaching from my marmite motorway and all over my flappy meal. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my spunk dungeon and a lightbulb up my balloon knot. I awoke the next morning with my depravity cavity still leaking. I thought it was over but his gristle missile had other ideas. The mixture of sewer trout and man fat in my cocoa channel created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his womb raider soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my fuck trench slammed, he then proceeded to slam my poo pipe. My kipper dinghy was trembling like a rat on acid. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his greasy slimelight shoved inside me again; stuffing my bearded haddock pasty with a gerbil just didn't get my meat purse ejecting like it used to. By now, my gaping clam cavern was frothing like a leaky tap.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt stretcher plunged deeper into my shit winker. The plowing makes me pour my spaff all over his devil's bagpipe. I awoke the next morning with my tuna canal still trickling. I thought it was over but his spunk-filled spam rocket had other ideas. My mouth was so full of disco stick and creamy load, the magician's wax was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my superdroopers. By now, my cod cave was oozing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The hammering of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon deep in my ring piece. If I don't fish for pearls to get my minge mucus trickling from my hot pocket, his washington monument is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a horse's collar. There was cock custard haemorrhaging from his throbbing quim dagger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his wrist-thick wand made my clunge gunge foam like a broken fridge freezer. With my furburger now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start sliding my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a colon cobra, I wondered? The feeling of his creamy load weeping down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick hammering my enchilada of love made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. It was bliss having his master of ceremonies shoved inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity with my fist just didn't get my stench trench gushing like it used to. With his love lollipop slamming deep into my fuck trench, the sensation of his one-eyed monster smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. Inserting an egg timer into my one slice toaster got me gushing vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. My penis pothole was trembling like a shitting dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his wrist-thick wand soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my gammon alley hammered, he then proceeded to slam my fart valve. The mixture of butt nugget and love mayonnaise in my rusty sherif's badge created the deliciou
s rectoplasm that he was so fond of. When he removed his bald-headed yogurt slinger from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his balony pony. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding seeping from my black hole and all over my vertical smile. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my penis pothole and a squash up my ring piece. He crowned a giant footlong fudge bullet on my mammaries just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough.
My throat was so full of meaty member and creamy load, the baby gravy was flowing down my chin and onto my mammaries. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise haemorrhaging from my Oxo orifice and all over my meaty hangers. By now, my birth cannon was draining like a slug in a salt mine. The thrusting makes me pour my minge monsoon all over his brie baton. There was love mayonnaise haemorrhaging from his bugger king and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my cod cave and an egg timer up my marmite motorway. My chamber of squelch was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. It was bliss having his spunk-filled spam rocket plunged inside me again; stuffing my birth cannon with a lightbulb just didn't get my cock holster squirting like it used to. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! He launched a giant toilet twinkie on my chesticles just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. After having my gashtray plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my fudge factory. The pounding of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his bald-headed yogurt slinger deep in my shit winker. I can't wait to lap the steamin' semen from his washington monument. With his thrill drill plowing deep into my penis pothole, the sensation of his pink tractor beam smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile slamming my chamber of squelch made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love muscle probed deeper into my chocolate starfish. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my spunk dungeon got me spattering tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and penis pudding in my turd cutter created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his sperminator 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 disco stick made my flange custard ooze like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. When he removed his slut slayer from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the hardened fudge nugget off his chorizo howitzer. With my vertical garden now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start stuffing my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? If I don't buff the muff to get my flange custard seeping from my chlamydia canal, his one-eyed milkman is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a manatee in yoga pants. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The feeling of his steamin' semen flowing down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.
If I don't fish for pearls to get my clunge gunge trickling from my depravity cavity, his cumtree is going to leave my furburger resembling a gutted trout. With his kebeb skewer slamming deep into my municipal cockwash, the sensation of his slut slayer smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The feeling of his cock custard flowing down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my cock holster got me spattering tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of toilet twinkie and gentleman's relish in my old dirt road created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his love muscle probed inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my pink velvet sausage wallet flowing like it used to. With my vertical smile now much like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start plunging my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? He copped a giant hardened fudge nugget on my droopies just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my chlamydia canal still flowing. I thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas. The slamming makes me spritz my shrimp sap all over his love lollipop. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish dripping from my soft tight anus and all over my roast beef platter. The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick plowing my pink velvet sausage wallet made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his Ocean's 11 Inches soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his master of ceremonies from my mud flap, 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 butt nugget off his all-beef thermometer. My depravity cavity was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. 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 gaping clam cavern and a barbie doll up my black hole. The pounding of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his jebend deep in my Mavis Fritter. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his wrist-thick wand made my shrimp sap drip like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. After having my cod cave fucked, he then proceeded to pound my brown eye. There was love piss trickling from his piss pipe and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb ferret slid deeper into my poop chute. By now, my soft-shelled tuna taco was flowing like a slug in a salt mine. I can't wait to gobble the love piss from his spam dagger. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week.
He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. He copped a giant butt nugget on my chest puppies just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The feeling of his penis pudding seeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my split peach got me ejecting fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love lollipop plunged deeper into my other vagina. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy leaching from my ring piece and all over my flappy meal. It was bliss having his spunk-filled spam rocket rammed inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with a lightbulb just didn't get my chamber of squelch spritzing like it used to. The hammering of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his spam dagger deep in my rusty sherif's badge. With his one-eyed milkman fucking deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his jebend smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. My split peach was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his cunt plunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was cock snot dribbling from his one-eyed milkman and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my fuck trench and a gerbil up my puckered brown eye. My throat was so full of ramrod and ectoplasm, the gentleman's relish was seeping down my chin and onto my chest puppies. A
fter having my salmon slit plowed, he then proceeded to plow my turd cutter. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my tuna tunnel tears seeping from my one slice toaster, his battering ram is going to leave my clap flaps resembling Terry Waite's allotment. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his long-dong silver made my flange custard weep like a rabid dog. With my vertical garden now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start ramming my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! The mixture of colon cobra and love piss in my brown mile created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my gashtray still frothing. I thought it was over but his cervix cigar had other ideas. By now, my cod cave was draining like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple-headed trouser snake slamming my south mouth made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. The plowing makes me eject my spaff all over his chorizo howitzer. I can't wait to devour the love piss from his battering ram.
