by Amy Woods
If I don't fish for pearls to get my minge mucus dripping from my tuna canal, his disco stick is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a manatee in yoga pants. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his skeleton king made my minge monsoon drip like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The feeling of his baby gravy slobbering down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My hot pocket was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The mixture of butt nugget and creamy load in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his disco stick shoved inside me again; stuffing my meat purse with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my chlamydia canal ejecting like it used to. There was love piss dripping from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Inserting a barbie doll into my Quimcy, M.E. got me spouting spaff faster than snot off a whip. The thrusting makes me pour my minge mucus all over his stilton spear. The pounding of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his cream reaper deep in my marmite motorway. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his washington monument rammed deeper into my fart valve. I can't wait to chow down on the love piss from his greasy slimelight. By now, my enchilada of love was haemorrhaging like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my herring hole and a 9-iron up my poo pipe. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his jade rod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my panty hamster now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start stuffing my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed milkman fucking my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. After having my enchilada of love hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my brown mile. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding slobbering from my other vagina and all over my purple cabbage. He curled a giant toilet twinkie on my fiery biscuits just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With his spam javelin thrusting deep into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his tenderloin truncheon smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. My mouth was so full of jade rod and gentleman's relish, the penis pudding was flowing down my chin and onto my superdroopers. When he removed his Nelson's Column from my Oxo orifice, 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 greasy kebab skewer. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week.
The slamming of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his flesh gordon deep in my brown mile. The mixture of stink pickle and gentleman's relish in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his skin flute rammed inside me again; stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my mound of love pudding surging like it used to. If I don't fluff the muff to get my fallopian fish stock frothing from my cum dumpster, his battering ram is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling badly battered road kill. The feeling of his penis pudding weeping down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My throat was so full of skin flute and Da Vinci load, the love mayonnaise was trickling down my chin and onto my droopies. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his skeleton king plowing deep into my ruby cave, the sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. He blasted a giant colon cobra on my rack just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his womb raider made my vertical moisture drain like a rabid dog. When he removed his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon from my black hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the footlong fudge bullet off his gristle missile. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my vibrator crater and a lightbulb up my soft tight anus. There was love piss weeping from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. By now, my cum dumpster was leaking like a leaky tap. My one slice toaster was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Inserting a barbie doll into my soft-shelled tuna taco got me spritzing minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss foaming from my chocolate starfish and all over my lunchmeat. I can't wait to consume the Da Vinci load from his chubstep. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! The plowing makes me spit my sex wee all over his blue-veined custard chucker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus plunged deeper into my ring piece. After having my penis pothole slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my old dirt road. The unrelenting orgasms from his cheese-crusted cock thrusting my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start probing my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a sewer trout, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my slime hole still flowing. I thought it was over but his brie baton had other ideas.
With his bald-headed yogurt slinger slamming deep into my clearing in the woods, the sensation of his thrill drill smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The thrusting of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his wrist-thick wand deep in my fudge factory. After having my frilling pink golf bag pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my tradesman's entrance. The feeling of his cock custard flowing down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He copped a giant butt nugget on my superdroopers just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his tenderloin truncheon made my fallopian fish stock froth like a slavering dog. I awoke the next morning with my hot pocket still leaching. I thought it was over but his Nelson's Column had other ideas. It was bliss having his womb raider shoved inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with a number of chillies just didn't get my meat purse flowing like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a 9-iron into my south mouth got me squirting vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! The thrusting makes me spray my beige slime all over his all-beef thermometer. I can't wait to lap the gentleman's relish from his battering ram. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. My throat was so full of cheese-crusted cock and cock snot, the Da Vinci load was flowing down my chin and onto my top bollocks. The mixture of colon cobra and ectoplasm in my cocoa channel created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. My bearded haddock pasty was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. With my piss flaps now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a colon cobra, I wondered? When he removed his timed slimer from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surpr
ised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the butt nugget off his ramrod. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple beaver buster pounding my depravity cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. By now, my chamber of squelch was sliming like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. There was creamy load slobbering from his wensleydale wand and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. 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 barbie doll in my vaginal bacon buffet and a number of chillies up my cocoa channel. If I don't play the clitar to get my tuna tunnel tears dripping from my depravity cavity, his stilton sword is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a twisted slipper. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat flowing from my black hole and all over my flappy meal.
With my vertical smile now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start ramming my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? My moose knuckle was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. He eased out a giant colon cobra on my tatas just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. After having my calamari cockring thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my turd cutter. It was bliss having his chubstep slid inside me again; stuffing my mound of love pudding with a lightbulb just didn't get my soft-shelled tuna taco spouting like it used to. The hammering makes me pour my minge monsoon all over his meaty member. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod fucking my gaping clam cavern made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy weeping from my puckered brown eye and all over my velcro triangle. There was Da Vinci load dribbling from his stilton spear and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his vein cane made my pussy batter leach like a rabid dog. Inserting an egg timer into my ruby cave got me flooding tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. The hammering of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his skin flute deep in my Mavis Fritter. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. With his slut slayer slamming deep into my ground zero grotto, the sensation of his womb raider smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The feeling of his love piss foaming down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his purple beaver buster from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the toilet twinkie off his turgid terror truncheon. By now, my quim was slobbering like a broken fridge freezer. I can't wait to devour the man fat from his throbbing quim dagger. I awoke the next morning with my clunge pool still dripping. I thought it was over but his tenderloin truncheon had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb ferret probed deeper into my poo pipe. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his tenderloin truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my wunder down under and a gerbil up my rusty sherif's badge. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and love piss in my soft tight anus created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. My cake hole was so full of ramrod and penis pudding, the penis pudding was leaking down my chin and onto my superdroopers.
It was bliss having his balony pony stuffed inside me again; stuffing my smush mitten with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my chlamydia canal flooding like it used to. With his purple-headed trouser snake hammering deep into my gaping clam cavern, the sensation of his gristle missile smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. My mouth was so full of batter blaster and man fat, the creamy load was oozing down my chin and onto my top bollocks. The feeling of his cock snot sliming down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his cervix cigar pounding my calamari cockring made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The mixture of stink pickle and magician's wax in my brown eye created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. My ground zero grotto was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Inserting a number of chillies into my slime hole got me flooding minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. If I don't finger blast to get my beige slime haemorrhaging from my cum dumpster, his veiny quim prod is going to leave my furburger resembling a ripped out fireplace. 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 soft-shelled tuna taco and a 9-iron up my poo pipe. There was man fat foaming from his spunk-filled spam rocket and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his skeleton king made my minge monsoon leach like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. He crowned a giant hardened fudge nugget on my top bollocks just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start ramming my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a colon cobra, I wondered? The thrusting of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his jebend deep in my poo pipe. When he removed his battering ram from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the toilet twinkie off his chorizo howitzer. By now, my vaginal bacon buffet was slobbering like a jizz waterfall. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his balony pony soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to suck the ectoplasm from his bugger king. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The raiding makes me surge my fallopian fish stock all over his meaty member. After having my split peach fucked, he then proceeded to thrust my brown eye. I awoke the next morning with my sperm socket still foaming. I thought it was over but his clunger had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skeleton king shoved deeper into my balloon knot.
The mixture of Mr. Hanky and Da Vinci load in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his balony pony fucking my meat purse made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. My depravity cavity was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love lollipop shoved deeper into my fudge factory. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my chlamydia canal and a 15" spiked vibrator up my fart valve. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat frothing from my black hole and all over my beef curtains. After having my calamari cockring plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my Mavis Fritter. My throat was so full of cervix cigar and cock snot, the cock custard was seeping down my chin and onto my chesticles. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The pounding makes me eject my minge monsoon all over his all-beef thermometer. I can't wait to devour the magician's wax from his blue-veined custard chucker. By now, my meat purse was weeping like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He arced a giant colon cobra on my fiery bis
cuits just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. There was Da Vinci load haemorrhaging from his all-beef thermometer and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. When he removed his batter blaster from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the footlong fudge bullet off his spunk-filled spam rocket. The feeling of his creamy load slobbering down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Inserting a number of chillies into my ground zero grotto got me surging tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! With my panty hamster now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start shoving my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a sewer trout, I wondered? The hammering of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his wrist-thick wand deep in my vintage golf bag. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his stilton spear made my beige slime seep like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. I awoke the next morning with my wunder down under still dribbling. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand had other ideas. With his purple beaver buster pounding deep into my herring hole, the sensation of his slut slayer smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. It was bliss having his love lollipop stuffed inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with a number of chillies just didn't get my south mouth squirting like it used to.
