by Amy Woods
When he removed his tallywacker from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the sewer trout off his chubstep. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his piss pipe soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He pitched a giant stink pickle on my sweater puppies just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The slamming of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his all-beef thermometer deep in my balloon knot. It was bliss having his womb ferret rammed inside me again; stuffing my vibration station with an egg timer just didn't get my cum dumpster flowing like it used to. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! Inserting a squash into my mound of love pudding got me flowing flange custard faster than snot off a whip. If I don't finger blast to get my shrimp sap seeping from my shame portal, his thrill drill is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a rabid baboon's arse. There was cock snot draining from his muffbuster and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The feeling of his cock snot seeping down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy oozing from my Oxo orifice and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. By now, my wizards sleeve was trickling like a George Foreman grill. My wizards sleeve was trembling like a rat on acid. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tenderloin truncheon rammed deeper into my Oxo orifice. With his batter blaster fucking deep into my cod canyon, the sensation of his long-dong silver smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. I awoke the next morning with my vibration station still foaming. I thought it was over but his battering ram had other ideas. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his disco stick made my flange custard haemorrhage like a rabid dog. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my chamber of squelch and a 15" spiked vibrator up my vintage golf bag. The unrelenting orgasms from his master of ceremonies raiding my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. I can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his skeleton king. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and gentleman's relish in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. My throat was so full of turgid terror truncheon and cock snot, the magician's wax was dripping down my chin and onto my mammaries. After having my clam-flavoured pothole hammered, he then proceeded to raid my fudge factory. The plowing makes me spray my pussy batter all over his devil's bagpipe.
With my meaty hangers now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start probing my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The slamming of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his wrist-thick wand deep in my rusty sherif's badge. With his pink tractor beam raiding deep into my frilling pink golf bag, the sensation of his brie baton smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. He eased out a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my twin peaks just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. It was bliss having his huge penis slid inside me again; stuffing my birth cannon with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my oyster ditch pouring like it used to. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his purple-headed trouser snake made my vertical moisture leach like a hungry pig at a trough. After having my shamevelope slammed, he then proceeded to pound my puckered brown eye. There was love mayonnaise sliming from his brie baton and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. 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 vibrator crater and a gerbil up my turd-herder. The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile hammering my cock holster made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. My cake hole was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and love piss, the baby gravy was dripping down my chin and onto my chesticles. The mixture of sewer trout and steamin' semen in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Inserting a squash into my gammon alley got me flowing fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. The slamming makes me gush my vertical moisture all over his spam dagger. By now, my cod canyon was leaking like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. I awoke the next morning with my mound of love pudding still leaching. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had other ideas. My split peach was trembling like a shitting dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his vein cane soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his cock snot trickling down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cumtree rammed deeper into my marmite motorway. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy seeping from my old dirt road and all over my vertical smile. I can't wait to lap the cock snot from his tenderloin truncheon. If I don't study english cliterature to get my flange custard dribbling from my clam-flavoured pothole, his one-eyed milkman is going to leave my vertical smile resembling the Japanese flag. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. When he removed his thrill drill from my turd cutter, 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 spunk-filled spam rocket.
With his mutton dagger raiding deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his greasy slimelight smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. The plowing makes me spit my tuna tunnel tears all over his giggle stick. When he removed his pink tractor beam 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 suck the footlong fudge bullet off his throbbing quim dagger. I can't wait to consume the cock custard from his jade rod. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my flange custard draining from my fuck trench, his bugger king is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling the Japanese flag. The feeling of his Da Vinci load flowing down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his thrill drill made my fallopian fish stock seep like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss dripping from my black hole and all over my vertical smile. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! He rolled a giant butt nugget on my chest puppies just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The mixture of sewer trout and love piss in my poo pipe created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With my meaty hangers now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start sliding my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The thrusting of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his veiny quim prod deep in my other vagina. It was bliss having his giggle stick rammed inside me again; stuffing my stench trench with a squash just didn't get my tampon tunnel squirting like it used to. By now, my bearded haddock pasty was slobbering like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. After having my vaginal bacon buffet pounded, he then proceeded to pound my cocoa channel. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. There was cock snot dribbling from his gristle missile and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his clunger raiding my chamber of squelch made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangeti
c motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my cock holster and my fist up my soft tight anus. My throat was so full of brie baton and cock snot, the magician's wax was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my chesticles. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his one-eyed monster plunged deeper into my poop chute. I awoke the next morning with my chamber of squelch still flowing. I thought it was over but his gristle missile had other ideas. My stench trench was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his purple beaver buster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
With his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon hammering deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his blind butler smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The fucking makes me spritz my shrimp sap all over his throbbing quim dagger. He cut a giant hardened fudge nugget on my tatas just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax draining from my fudge factory and all over my vertical garden. 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 smush mitten and a 15" spiked vibrator up my tradesman's entrance. The feeling of his love piss flowing down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My wizards sleeve was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. After having my gashtray raided, he then proceeded to slam my brown eye. There was steamin' semen haemorrhaging from his tenderloin truncheon 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 spam dagger shoved deeper into my puckered brown eye. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his batter blaster made my beige slime flow like a rabid dog. If I don't buff the muff to get my tuna tunnel tears foaming from my vibrator crater, his womb ferret is going to leave my furburger resembling that bathroom door in The Shining. The hammering of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus deep in my tradesman's entrance. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! Inserting an antique doorknob into my clam-flavoured pothole got me pouring flange custard faster than snot off a whip. The unrelenting orgasms from his mutton dagger thrusting my herring hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. The mixture of toilet twinkie and cock snot in my ring piece created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his womb raider rammed inside me again; stuffing my cod cave with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my penis pothole spritzing like it used to. With my clap flaps now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start plunging my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a sewer trout, I wondered? When he removed his bugger king from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the footlong fudge bullet off his cunt stretcher. My mouth was so full of jebend and creamy load, the baby gravy was trickling down my chin and onto my droopies. I can't wait to suck the steamin' semen from his cervix cigar. I awoke the next morning with my hatchet wound still sliming. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his pink tractor beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
With my velcro triangle now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start stuffing my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a butt nugget, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot dripping from my old dirt road and all over my vertical garden. It was bliss having his cheese-crusted cock probed inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my herring hole gushing like it used to. With his cunt plunger slamming deep into my fuck trench, the sensation of his long-dong silver smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The feeling of his creamy load dribbling down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The raiding of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his devil's bagpipe deep in my vintage golf bag. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his veiny quim prod made my beige slime slime like a George Foreman grill. By now, my clunge pool was oozing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. He launched a giant colon cobra on my chesticles just so he could lap 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 one-eyed monster plunged deeper into my chocolate starfish. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and baby gravy in my poop chute created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. After having my meat purse fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my soft tight anus. My quim was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. I can't wait to lap the man fat from his batter blaster. My throat was so full of tallywacker and penis pudding, the Da Vinci load was frothing down my chin and onto my top bollocks. I awoke the next morning with my hatchet wound still flowing. I thought it was over but his stilton sword had other ideas. When he removed his tenderloin truncheon from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the hardened fudge nugget off his purple-headed trouser snake. Inserting a squash into my birth cannon got me spattering minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed milkman slamming my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my minge monsoon dripping from my carp cavity, his purple-headed trouser snake is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling that bathroom door in The Shining. There was Da Vinci load frothing from his thrill drill and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my one slice toaster and a 9-iron up my rusty bullet hole. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his turgid terror truncheon 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 ample cock made my flange custard weep like a rabid dog. My pink velvet sausage wallet was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. There was man fat sliming from his womb raider and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword raiding my cum dumpster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. It was bliss having his wrist-thick wand rammed inside me again; stuffing my salmon slit with a squash just didn't get my south mouth spattering like it used to. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and penis pudding in my marmite motorway created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He blasted a giant hardened fudge nugget on my superdroopers just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his kebeb skewer stuffed deeper into my puckered brown eye. After having my bearded haddock pasty thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my marmite motorway. With my clap flaps now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start shoving my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The raiding of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his master of ceremonies deep in my chocolate starfish. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his cream reap
er soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his cock custard draining down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my stench trench still dripping. I thought it was over but his stilton spear had other ideas. By now, my moose knuckle was frothing like a slug in a salt mine. When he removed his vein cane from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the Mr. Hanky off his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my chlamydia canal and a barbie doll up my balloon knot. Inserting a squash into my gaping clam cavern got me spattering pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My cake hole was so full of one-eyed milkman and Da Vinci load, the gentleman's relish was dripping down my chin and onto my mammaries. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load flowing from my marmite motorway and all over my furburger. If I don't study english cliterature to get my tuna tunnel tears oozing from my whispering eye, his disco stick is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a twisted slipper. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. With his stilton sword hammering deep into my salmon slit, the sensation of his cervix cigar smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. I can't wait to devour the baby gravy from his wensleydale wand.
