by Amy Woods
By now, my furry cup was haemorrhaging like a slavering dog. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus rammed deeper into my brown mile. It was bliss having his skeleton king stuffed inside me again; stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with a number of chillies just didn't get my shame portal spritzing like it used to. With my piss flaps now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start stuffing my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his bald avenger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My split peach was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. I can't wait to suck the ectoplasm from his brie baton. When he removed his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his jebend. If I don't buff the muff to get my flange custard dribbling from my cum dumpster, his slut slayer is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling Brian May's plughole. The pounding of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his devil's bagpipe deep in my vintage golf bag. With his piss pipe hammering deep into my gaping clam cavern, the sensation of his washington monument smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald-headed yogurt slinger thrusting my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. After having my cod crater hammered, he then proceeded to raid my rusty bullet hole. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my hatchet wound and an antique doorknob up my rusty bullet hole. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat sliming from my turd cutter and all over my vertical smile. He eased out a giant butt nugget on my tatas just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting my fist into my whispering eye got me splurging spaff faster than snot off a whip. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and ectoplasm in my fart valve created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. My mouth was so full of greasy slimelight and Da Vinci load, the magician's wax was draining down my chin and onto my cans. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his skeleton king made my shrimp sap slime like a slug in a salt mine. I awoke the next morning with my pink velvet sausage wallet still trickling. I thought it was over but his vein cane had other ideas. The hammering makes me squirt my sex wee all over his Ocean's 11 Inches. There was gentleman's relish flowing from his pink tractor beam and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week.
My mouth was so full of giggle stick and man fat, the man fat was leaching down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his greasy kebab skewer stuffed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his wrist-thick wand soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting my fist into my salmon slit got me spraying shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. With his cumtree plowing deep into my stench trench, the sensation of his one-eyed monster smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. There was cock snot trickling from his love muscle and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. 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 vibration station and my fist up my puckered brown eye. I awoke the next morning with my south mouth still dribbling. I thought it was over but his pink tractor beam had other ideas. With my vertical garden now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start sliding my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The hammering of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his mutton dagger deep in my cocoa channel. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his skeleton king made my tuna tunnel tears drain like a broken coffee maker. After having my hatchet wound plowed, he then proceeded to hammer my fart valve. He rolled a giant colon cobra on my chest puppies just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't wait to suck the ectoplasm from his chubstep. By now, my herring hole was draining like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! When he removed his spam javelin from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the hardened fudge nugget off his thrill drill. It was bliss having his chubstep probed inside me again; stuffing my shame portal with a number of chillies just didn't get my sperm socket spattering like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load seeping from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. My stench trench was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The unrelenting orgasms from his throbbing quim dagger raiding my clearing in the woods made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. The pounding makes me spray my vertical moisture all over his love lollipop. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. If I don't tune the tuna to get my fallopian fish stock frothing from my one slice toaster, his cervix cigar is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a stuntman's knee. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and man fat in my fudge factory created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of.
There was ectoplasm flowing from his womb raider and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Inserting a gerbil into my cock holster got me surging minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to devour the penis pudding from his tenderloin truncheon. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my sex wee seeping from my spunk dungeon, his bald-headed yogurt slinger is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a gutted trout. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his turgid terror truncheon rammed deeper into my marmite motorway. By now, my meat purse was slobbering like a slavering dog. He extruded a giant hardened fudge nugget on my chest puppies just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. After having my municipal cockwash fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my black hole. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish flowing from my turd cutter and all over my vertical smile. The slamming of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his giggle stick deep in my Mavis Fritter. The mixture of butt nugget and love mayonnaise in my other vagina created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his sperminator slamming my whispering eye made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. When he removed his wrist-thick wand from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the corn-eyed butt snake off his purple-headed trouser snake. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my vaginal bacon buffet and a lightbulb up my rusty bullet hole. My ladytown was trembling like jelly. It was bliss having his skin flute probed inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my clam-flavoured pothole ejecting like it used to. My throat was so full of turgid terror truncheon and steamin' semen, the gentleman's relish was foaming down my chin and onto my tatas. The raiding makes me spout my spaff all over his blue-veined custard chuck
er. With my clap flaps now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start ramming my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his timed slimer made my minge monsoon froth like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. With his tallywacker raiding deep into my vibrator crater, the sensation of his bugger king smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his battering ram soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my bearded haddock pasty still foaming. I thought it was over but his skin flute had other ideas.
If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my clunge gunge haemorrhaging from my one slice toaster, his chorizo howitzer is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a sand blasted tomato. The feeling of his penis pudding seeping down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his spam javelin probed inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my penis pothole splurging like it used to. By now, my chamber of squelch was dripping like a rabid dog. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my sperm socket got me splurging clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my vertical smile now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start sliding my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my ground zero grotto still oozing. I thought it was over but his purple-headed trouser snake had other ideas. After having my quim fucked, he then proceeded to raid my soft tight anus. The pounding of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his chorizo howitzer deep in my vintage golf bag. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his long-dong silver made my tuna tunnel tears seep like a rabid dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his purple-headed trouser snake raiding deep into my oyster ditch, the sensation of his Nelson's Column smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. There was love mayonnaise oozing from his stilton spear and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger fucking my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! I can't wait to chow down on the steamin' semen from his chubstep. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my wizards sleeve and my fist up my soft tight anus. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and love mayonnaise in my Oxo orifice created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. The thrusting makes me spray my tuna tunnel tears all over his spam dagger. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat sliming from my Oxo orifice and all over my clap flaps. My cake hole was so full of washington monument and penis pudding, the love piss was foaming down my chin and onto my mammaries. My south mouth was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. When he removed his wrist-thick wand from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the sewer trout off his Nelson's Column. He extruded a giant stink pickle on my mammaries just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough.
There was love piss weeping from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The pounding of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his greasy kebab skewer deep in my balloon knot. I awoke the next morning with my one slice toaster still dribbling. I thought it was over but his tenderloin truncheon had other ideas. The feeling of his gentleman's relish dribbling down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait to suck the cock snot from his turgid terror truncheon. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his one-eyed monster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my vaginal bacon buffet plowed, he then proceeded to slam my fart valve. My throat was so full of spam javelin and man fat, the magician's wax was slobbering down my chin and onto my chest puppies. The hammering makes me spritz my clunge gunge all over his pink tractor beam. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. By now, my Quimcy, M.E. was weeping like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. The unrelenting orgasms from his balony pony thrusting my salmon slit made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. Inserting my fist into my birth cannon got me splurging sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. When he removed his gristle missile from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the toilet twinkie off his skin flute. If I don't fluff the muff to get my tuna tunnel tears dribbling from my shame portal, his spam dagger is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a badly wrapped kebab. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and steamin' semen in my balloon knot created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his meaty member made my minge mucus leach like a broken fridge freezer. With his greasy slimelight fucking deep into my wizards sleeve, the sensation of his cervix cigar smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load draining from my balloon knot and all over my panty hamster. My tampon tunnel was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my ladytown and an antique doorknob up my vintage golf bag. With my roast beef platter now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start stuffing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a stink pickle, I wondered? It was bliss having his bugger king plunged inside me again; stuffing my whispering eye with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my cod canyon ejecting like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tenderloin truncheon plunged deeper into my balloon knot.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen slobbering from my turd cutter and all over my velcro triangle. He copped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my love bubbles just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. It was bliss having his purple-headed trouser snake probed inside me again; stuffing my stench trench with a gerbil just didn't get my clearing in the woods gushing like it used to. With his balony pony raiding deep into my fuck trench, the sensation of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! The feeling of his love mayonnaise flowing down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and penis pudding in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his love muscle fucking my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. Inserting my fist into my mound of love pudding got me squirting clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. If I don't study english cliterature to get my shrimp sap dribbling from my ladytown, his jebend is going to leave my furburger resembling the south end of a badger going north. There was love piss frothing from his spunk-filled spam rocket and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The fucking of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his pi
ss pipe deep in my soft tight anus. With my panty hamster now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start stuffing my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a colon cobra, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his ample cock soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his cream reaper made my shrimp sap weep like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. By now, my kipper dinghy was draining like a broken coffee maker. My cake hole was so full of kebeb skewer and magician's wax, the magician's wax was slobbering down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. After having my ruby cave thrusted, he then proceeded to plow my rusty sherif's badge. I can't wait to chow down on the ectoplasm from his bald-headed yogurt slinger. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my municipal cockwash and an antique doorknob up my poop chute. My smush mitten was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The raiding makes me spray my vertical moisture all over his clunger. I awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still trickling. I thought it was over but his clunger had other ideas. When he removed his slut slayer from my balloon knot, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the butt nugget off his love muscle.
