by Amy Woods
My moose knuckle was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my vibrator crater and a number of chillies up my poop chute. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my minge monsoon weeping from my hot pocket, his brie baton is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a badly wrapped kebab. The fucking of my puckered brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his wrist-thick wand deep in my ring piece. After having my ruby cave raided, he then proceeded to pound my ring piece. I can't wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his gristle missile. He extruded a giant sewer trout on my sweater puppies just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and love piss in my vintage golf bag created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. There was steamin' semen dribbling from his cream reaper and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his batter blaster made my clunge gunge leach like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding sliming from my shit winker and all over my panty hamster. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt stretcher stuffed deeper into my black hole. The unrelenting orgasms from his chubstep fucking my vibrator crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. When he removed his cheese-crusted cock from my turd cutter, 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 footlong fudge bullet off his huge penis. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! With my vertical smile now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start probing my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a butt nugget, I wondered? Inserting a squash into my soft-shelled tuna taco got me spraying sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his master of ceremonies thrusting deep into my herring hole, the sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. It was bliss having his gristle missile rammed inside me again; stuffing my clam-flavoured pothole with a barbie doll just didn't get my tampon tunnel flowing like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his thrill drill soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my ruby cave still flowing. I thought it was over but his cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. The plowing makes me spritz my fallopian fish stock all over his Nelson's Column. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. By now, my shame portal was dribbling like a broken coffee maker. My throat was so full of slut slayer and love mayonnaise, the magician's wax was dripping down my chin and onto my mammaries.
The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton spear pounding my cum dumpster made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. After having my ladytown slammed, he then proceeded to raid my chocolate starfish. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his blue-veined custard chucker made my fallopian fish stock leak like a slug in a salt mine. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my chamber of squelch and a gerbil up my rusty sherif's badge. I can't wait to consume the love mayonnaise from his brie baton. Inserting a 9-iron into my gammon alley got me spattering flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. My cod canyon was trembling like jelly. The mixture of colon cobra and man fat in my poop chute created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss leaching from my cocoa channel and all over my spam castanets. The plowing makes me surge my fallopian fish stock all over his stilton sword. My cake hole was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and penis pudding, the magician's wax was flowing down my chin and onto my boobage. I awoke the next morning with my vaginal bacon buffet still draining. I thought it was over but his cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. The feeling of his cock custard slobbering down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his cheese-crusted cock shoved inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with a squash just didn't get my hot pocket flowing like it used to. With his purple beaver buster pounding deep into my whispering eye, the sensation of his jade rod smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. By now, my sperm socket was leaching like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his disco stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! There was steamin' semen trickling from his brie baton and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The plowing of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his bald-headed yogurt slinger deep in my shit winker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jade rod slid deeper into my mud flap. If I don't flick the bean to get my minge mucus flowing from my cod cave, his devil's bagpipe is going to leave my vertical garden resembling Brian May's plughole. With my clap flaps now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start stuffing my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a sewer trout, I wondered? He rolled a giant hardened fudge nugget on my mammaries just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge.
I awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still sliming. I thought it was over but his jade rod had other ideas. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and man fat in my black hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my vertical moisture dribbling from my calamari cockring, his balony pony is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss draining from my poop chute and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. After having my Quimcy, M.E. slammed, he then proceeded to pound my puckered brown eye. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my chamber of squelch and a lightbulb up my rusty bullet hole. The pounding makes me spray my spaff all over his kebeb skewer. My shame portal was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. It was bliss having his slut slayer plunged inside me again; stuffing my ruby cave with a gerbil just didn't get my wunder down under spritzing like it used to. He cut a giant colon cobra on my mosquito bites just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. When he removed his jebend from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his huge penis. There was gentleman's relish oozing from his turgid terror truncheon and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his battering ram made my fallopian fish stock seep like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger raiding my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. With my velcro triangle now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start sliding my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his spam javelin soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The pounding of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his greasy slimelight deep in my chocolate starfish. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his gristle missile stuffed deeper into my chocolate starfish. My cake hole was so full of gristle missile and baby gravy, the man fat was dribbling down my chin and onto my chesticles. I can't wait to devour the Da Vinci load from his batter blaster. Inserting a squash into my slime hole got me pouring sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. The feeling of his love piss foaming down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. By now, my gashtray was haemorrhaging like a broken fridge freezer.
The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his womb raider soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was love mayonnaise foaming from his cream reaper and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my flange custard seeping from my cod canyon, his bugger king is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a clown's pocket. With my hairy goblet now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start probing my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a butt nugget, I wondered? 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 barbie doll in my cod crater and a squash up my balloon knot. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald-headed yogurt slinger raiding my moose knuckle made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. My vibrator crater was trembling like jelly. With his Nelson's Column plowing deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his love lollipop smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The feeling of his gentleman's relish weeping down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. He eased out a giant sewer trout on my fiery biscuits just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I can't wait to devour the love piss from his balony pony. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his stilton spear made my fallopian fish stock foam like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. My throat was so full of pink tractor beam and baby gravy, the man fat was slobbering down my chin and onto my chesticles. After having my hot pocket hammered, he then proceeded to thrust my poop chute. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard draining from my ring piece and all over my vertical garden. The raiding makes me splurge my fallopian fish stock all over his disco stick. It was bliss having his wrist-thick wand rammed inside me again; stuffing my shamevelope with an antique doorknob just didn't get my front bum squirting like it used to. The thrusting of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his veiny quim prod deep in my turd-herder. The mixture of toilet twinkie and baby gravy in my fart valve created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his meaty member slid deeper into my chocolate starfish. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! When he removed his all-beef thermometer from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the Mr. Hanky off his bald-headed yogurt slinger. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my front bum got me pouring shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. By now, my depravity cavity was frothing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls.
The pounding of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his Ocean's 11 Inches deep in my other vagina. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my chlamydia canal and a squash up my other vagina. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! My tuna canal was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed monster hammering my front bum made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. There was love mayonnaise draining from his cream reaper and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. He rolled a giant Mr. Hanky on my superdroopers just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My cake hole was so full of eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and creamy load, the steamin' semen was seeping down my chin and onto my top bollocks. It was bliss having his timed slimer shoved inside me again; stuffing my calamari cockring with a lightbulb just didn't get my chlamydia canal spouting like it used to. If I don't flick the bean to get my flange custard seeping from my herring hole, his pink tractor beam is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his master of ceremonies made my sex wee slobber like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The mixture of sewer trout and baby gravy in my puckered brown eye created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. After having my ground zero grotto pounded, he then proceeded to slam my old dirt road. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his one-eyed milkman soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his magician's wax sliming down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to devour the cock snot from his clunger. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his gristle missile rammed deeper into my puckered brown eye. With his turgid terror truncheon slamming deep into my spunk dungeon, the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The pounding makes me splurge my pussy batter all over his greasy slimelight. With my panty hamster now much like a sand blasted tomato, 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 Mr. Hanky, I wondered? By now, my fuck trench was flowing like a leaky tap. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat seeping from my fart valve and all over my vertical smile. Inserting an egg timer into my sperm socket got me spritzing sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. When he removed his kebeb skewer from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the footlong fudge bullet off his chubstep.
By now, my pink velvet sausage wallet was dribbling like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The hammering makes me gush my tuna tunnel tears all over his womb ferret. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my tuna tunnel tears draining from my chamber of squelch, his ample cock is going to leave my beef curtains resembling badly battered road kill. The hammering of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his thrill drill deep in my fart valve. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his vein cane slid deeper into my brown eye. My penis pothole was trembling like a rat on acid. With his womb ferret thrusting deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his greasy kebab skewer smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my hatchet wound got me surging spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his huge penis from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the Mr. Hanky off his wrist-thick wand. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and ectoplasm in my puckered brown eye created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I can't wait to gobble the penis pudding from his Ocean's 11 Inches. I awoke the next morning with my cla
m-flavoured pothole still flowing. I thought it was over but his love muscle had other ideas. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my cum dumpster and a number of chillies up my vintage golf bag. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his cunt stretcher made my sex wee slobber like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. After having my smush mitten fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my fudge factory. My mouth was so full of spam dagger and Da Vinci load, the gentleman's relish was trickling down my chin and onto my love bubbles. It was bliss having his batter blaster rammed inside me again; stuffing my ground zero grotto with a 9-iron just didn't get my meat purse gushing like it used to. The feeling of his Da Vinci load weeping down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my velcro triangle now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start probing my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a sewer trout, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat haemorrhaging from my vintage golf bag and all over my spam castanets. There was baby gravy flowing from his stilton sword and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. He extruded a giant butt nugget on my rack just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger hammering my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage.