by Amy Woods
After having my whispering eye hammered, he then proceeded to pound my mud flap. There was penis pudding weeping from his cervix cigar and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. With my furburger now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start stuffing my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a colon cobra, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his piss pipe plowing my herring hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his battering ram soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The pounding of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his brie baton deep in my Mavis Fritter. My throat was so full of balony pony and love mayonnaise, the creamy load was sliming down my chin and onto my tatas. My cod crater was trembling like jelly. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. When he removed his womb raider from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. By now, my birth cannon was dripping like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my wizards sleeve got me spouting vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. He arced a giant stink pickle on my fiery biscuits just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his all-beef thermometer made my shrimp sap froth like a leaky tap. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my vibration station and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my poop chute. It was bliss having his piss pipe rammed inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with a barbie doll just didn't get my cod canyon flowing like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cervix cigar plunged deeper into my old dirt road. If I don't flick the bean to get my flange custard foaming from my tampon tunnel, his greasy kebab skewer is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a clown's pocket. The raiding makes me spritz my sex wee all over his cheese-crusted cock. I can't wait to chow down on the cock custard from his jebend. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax dripping from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my roast beef platter. The feeling of his cock custard leaking down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. With his pink tractor beam slamming deep into my Quimcy, M.E., the sensation of his slut slayer smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. I awoke the next morning with my slime hole still flowing. I thought it was over but his cunt stretcher had other ideas.
It was bliss having his one-eyed milkman slid inside me again; stuffing my cod crater with a 9-iron just didn't get my enchilada of love ejecting like it used to. I can't wait to devour the man fat from his thrill drill. I awoke the next morning with my mound of love pudding still sliming. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his spam dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my wunder down under got me spraying pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. The mixture of butt nugget and steamin' semen in my puckered brown eye created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start shoving my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his wensleydale wand slid deeper into my tradesman's entrance. The feeling of his love piss dripping down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. By now, my pink velvet sausage wallet was trickling like a leaky tap. My mouth was so full of meaty member and steamin' semen, the magician's wax was seeping down my chin and onto my cans. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! If I don't buff the muff to get my shrimp sap haemorrhaging from my Quimcy, M.E., his wensleydale wand is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. The fucking makes me spritz my shrimp sap all over his ample cock. When he removed his giggle stick from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the colon cobra off his battering ram. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. There was man fat leaking from his skeleton king and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. He blasted a giant toilet twinkie on my love bubbles just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. After having my wizards sleeve plowed, he then proceeded to hammer my fart valve. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm haemorrhaging from my mud flap and all over my spam castanets. My tuna canal was trembling like jelly. The hammering of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his cunt stretcher deep in my chocolate starfish. With his tenderloin truncheon pounding deep into my spunk dungeon, the sensation of his ample cock smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my herring hole and an egg timer up my tradesman's entrance. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon made my sex wee dribble like a broken fridge freezer.
With my piss flaps now much like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start shoving my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his womb raider soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to chow down on the love mayonnaise from his meaty member. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my hatchet wound still leaking. I thought it was over but his flesh gordon had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his batter blaster stuffed deeper into my cocoa channel. He blasted a giant sewer trout on my boobage just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. After having my depravity cavity pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my old dirt road. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. When he removed his batter blaster from my black hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the hardened fudge nugget off his cheese-crusted cock. The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile raiding my cock holster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. The raiding of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his huge penis deep in my turd-herder. The thrusting makes me spout my spaff all over his stilton spear. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his greasy slimelight made my tuna tunnel tears flow like a jizz waterfall. It was bliss having his slut slayer shoved inside me again; stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my clunge pool flowing like it used to. The feeling of his Da Vinci load slobbering down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. There was ectoplasm draining from his turgid terror truncheon and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. With his chubstep slamming deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his tenderloin truncheon smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my cock holster and a barbie doll up my turd-herder. My quim was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Within no time, I c
ould feel the shitty steamin' semen haemorrhaging from my Oxo orifice and all over my spam castanets. If I don't fish for pearls to get my flange custard trickling from my gammon alley, his Nelson's Column is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a manatee in yoga pants. By now, my cod cave was haemorrhaging like a slavering dog. Inserting a squash into my herring hole got me spouting spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. My cake hole was so full of gristle missile and cock snot, the cock custard was leaching down my chin and onto my mammaries.
With my panty hamster now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start ramming my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? There was love piss weeping from his womb raider and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. After having my wunder down under pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my poo pipe. The feeling of his love piss seeping down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The thrusting makes me spray my beige slime all over his love lollipop. I can't wait to chow down on the ectoplasm from his slut slayer. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his skin flute soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The pounding of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his greasy kebab skewer deep in my ring piece. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. With his chorizo howitzer plowing deep into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his skeleton king smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He cut a giant Mr. Hanky on my superdroopers just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his greasy slimelight rammed deeper into my marmite motorway. My mouth was so full of one-eyed monster and love mayonnaise, the creamy load was leaking down my chin and onto my twin peaks. By now, my meat purse was flowing like a jizz waterfall. My stench trench was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! Inserting a squash into my cum dumpster got me splurging tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus made my tuna tunnel tears drain like a George Foreman grill. It was bliss having his flesh gordon rammed inside me again; stuffing my depravity cavity with an antique doorknob just didn't get my clunge pool splurging like it used to. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my gaping clam cavern and a lightbulb up my marmite motorway. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish haemorrhaging from my brown mile and all over my vertical smile. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my beige slime dripping from my enchilada of love, his cream reaper is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a stuntman's knee. The unrelenting orgasms from his master of ceremonies fucking my sperm socket made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. When he removed his cunt plunger from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the Mr. Hanky off his spunk-filled spam rocket. I awoke the next morning with my salmon slit still leaching. I thought it was over but his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had other ideas.
My mound of love pudding was trembling like jelly. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my kipper dinghy and a barbie doll up my old dirt road. If I don't tune the tuna to get my flange custard leaching from my shamevelope, his spunk-filled spam rocket is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a horse's collar. The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod plowing my smush mitten made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. I awoke the next morning with my fuck gutter still seeping. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had other ideas. The mixture of stink pickle and magician's wax in my fart valve created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his thrill drill made my tuna tunnel tears ooze like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. When he removed his battering ram from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the corn-eyed butt snake off his gristle missile. The hammering of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his sperminator deep in my soft tight anus. The pounding makes me spritz my sex wee all over his love muscle. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his flesh gordon rammed deeper into my brown eye. With my lunchmeat now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start probing my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a stink pickle, I wondered? He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Inserting a number of chillies into my cod canyon got me spattering pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. The feeling of his man fat weeping down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his batter blaster rammed inside me again; stuffing my cod cave with a 9-iron just didn't get my carp cavity spritzing like it used to. He eased out a giant stink pickle on my chest puppies just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise haemorrhaging from my old dirt road and all over my meaty hangers. I can't wait to gobble the creamy load from his master of ceremonies. With his battering ram pounding deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his devil's bagpipe smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. My mouth was so full of one-eyed monster and love mayonnaise, the penis pudding was dribbling down my chin and onto my droopies. There was love mayonnaise flowing from his flesh gordon and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his sperminator soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my oyster ditch plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my soft tight anus.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his pink tractor beam shoved deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. I awoke the next morning with my salmon slit still dribbling. I thought it was over but his skeleton king had other ideas. The pounding of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his wensleydale wand deep in my chocolate starfish. After having my depravity cavity pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my poo pipe. I can't wait to suck the steamin' semen from his giggle stick. My cake hole was so full of ample cock and creamy load, the Da Vinci load was seeping down my chin and onto my rack. Inserting a squash into my depravity cavity got me gushing minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. The pounding makes me squirt my vertical moisture all over his slut slayer. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his greasy kebab skewer made my fallopian fish stock slobber like a George Foreman grill. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a badly wrapped kebab, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his giggle stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his stilton sword hammering deep into my ground zero grotto, the sensation of his greasy slimelight smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my chamber of squelch and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my chocolate starfish. It was bliss having his tallywacker probed inside me again; stuffing my ruby cave with a gerbil just didn't get my enchilada of love spritzing like it used to. By now, my quim was slobber
ing like a slug in a salt mine. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen foaming from my tradesman's entrance and all over my lunchmeat. My hatchet wound was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. If I don't play the clitar to get my tuna tunnel tears foaming from my clunge pool, his skeleton king is going to leave my piss flaps resembling that bathroom door in The Shining. He eased out a giant toilet twinkie on my mammaries just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. When he removed his ample cock from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the hardened fudge nugget off his purple-headed trouser snake. There was cock snot foaming from his huge penis and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his devil's bagpipe pounding my vibrator crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. The feeling of his gentleman's relish leaking down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than snot off a whip. With my piss flaps now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start sliding my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a sewer trout, I wondered?
