by Amy Woods
If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my pussy batter trickling from my ruby cave, his clunger is going to leave my piss flaps resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his turgid terror truncheon made my pussy batter leak like a hungry pig at a trough. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot trickling from my fudge factory and all over my roast beef platter. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt plunger plunged deeper into my cocoa channel. After having my vaginal bacon buffet fucked, he then proceeded to raid my rusty bullet hole. The raiding of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his balony pony deep in my other vagina. I can't wait to devour the baby gravy from his flesh gordon. He pitched a giant footlong fudge bullet on my cans just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The unrelenting orgasms from his spunk-filled spam rocket pounding my carp cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. The feeling of his creamy load leaking down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my clam-flavoured pothole and a squash up my mud flap. My cake hole was so full of purple-headed trouser snake and Da Vinci load, the steamin' semen was dribbling down my chin and onto my superdroopers. My moose knuckle was trembling like a shitting dog. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! By now, my gammon alley was foaming like a broken fridge freezer. When he removed his tallywacker from my cocoa channel, 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 cervix cigar. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his wrist-thick wand soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was Da Vinci load dripping from his love lollipop and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my birth cannon still trickling. I thought it was over but his slut slayer had other ideas. Inserting a squash into my quim got me surging beige slime faster than snot off a whip. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. With my panty hamster now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start stuffing my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a sewer trout, I wondered? The mixture of butt nugget and penis pudding in my balloon knot created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The hammering makes me gush my shrimp sap all over his meaty member. With his pink tractor beam fucking deep into my whispering eye, the sensation of his all-beef thermometer smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver.
If I don't buff the muff to get my clunge gunge slobbering from my south mouth, his cumtree is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a stuntman's knee. There was magician's wax draining from his love muscle and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot flowing from my brown mile and all over my lunchmeat. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and penis pudding in my poo pipe created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. After having my meat purse slammed, he then proceeded to fuck my old dirt road. The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick slamming my herring hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. With my roast beef platter now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start sliding my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a sewer trout, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my mound of love pudding still trickling. I thought it was over but his chorizo howitzer had other ideas. When he removed his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the corn-eyed butt snake off his cream reaper. My throat was so full of wensleydale wand and gentleman's relish, the love piss was flowing down my chin and onto my droopies. It was bliss having his vein cane probed inside me again; stuffing my hot pocket with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my cod canyon squirting like it used to. With his meaty member pounding deep into my depravity cavity, the sensation of his long-dong silver smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my clearing in the woods and a gerbil up my rusty sherif's badge. The fucking makes me spit my clunge gunge all over his spunk-filled spam rocket. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. My soft-shelled tuna taco was trembling like jelly. Inserting a lightbulb into my vibration station got me spraying flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He cut a giant butt nugget on my cans just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't wait to suck the baby gravy from his purple-headed trouser snake. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love lollipop shoved deeper into my puckered brown eye. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his spam dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his magician's wax trickling down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The thrusting of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his throbbing quim dagger deep in my rusty sherif's badge. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his wensleydale wand made my pussy batter ooze like a broken fridge freezer. By now, my carp cavity was leaking like a broken coffee maker.
With his giggle stick thrusting deep into my fuck gutter, the sensation of his tallywacker smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. There was baby gravy trickling from his skin flute and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Inserting my fist into my salmon slit got me flowing beige slime faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his cunt stretcher made my minge monsoon haemorrhage like a George Foreman grill. I awoke the next morning with my tampon tunnel still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his brie baton had other ideas. By now, my vibration station was sliming like a leaky tap. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise foaming from my vintage golf bag and all over my spam castanets. When he removed his bald-headed yogurt slinger from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his sperminator. After having my gashtray raided, he then proceeded to hammer my poop chute. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and baby gravy in my brown mile created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my gashtray and a squash up my vintage golf bag. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my beige slime trickling from my shamevelope, his turgid terror truncheon is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his one-eyed monster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his brie baton slamming my tuna canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. With my fishy flaps now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start plunging my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? I can't wait to lap the cock snot from his one-eyed milkman. The feeling of his love piss leaking down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his brie baton plunged inside me again; stuffing my kipper dinghy with a gerbil just didn't get my mound of love pudding
spattering like it used to. The raiding of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his muffbuster deep in my mud flap. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his all-beef thermometer slid deeper into my vintage golf bag. My cod canyon was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He extruded a giant butt nugget on my twin peaks just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The raiding makes me spritz my tuna tunnel tears all over his ramrod.
Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my ruby cave and my fist up my ring piece. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his bald avenger made my minge mucus foam like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. With his all-beef thermometer hammering deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his bugger king smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and baby gravy in my ring piece created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He cut a giant colon cobra on my sweater puppies just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt stretcher probed deeper into my tradesman's entrance. The plowing of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his cream reaper deep in my soft tight anus. The raiding makes me eject my minge monsoon all over his thrill drill. Inserting my fist into my cod canyon got me flowing shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. By now, my soft-shelled tuna taco was seeping like a broken coffee maker. It was bliss having his batter blaster plunged inside me again; stuffing my mound of love pudding with a 9-iron just didn't get my smush mitten spattering like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise dripping from my chocolate starfish and all over my spam castanets. With my clap flaps now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start sliding my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a sewer trout, I wondered? My cake hole was so full of flesh gordon and magician's wax, the steamin' semen was leaching down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. I awoke the next morning with my cod canyon still foaming. I thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas. After having my ladytown slammed, he then proceeded to plow my old dirt road. When he removed his batter blaster from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the footlong fudge bullet off his chubstep. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. My wunder down under was trembling like a shitting dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his thrill drill soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver raiding my furry cup made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. There was creamy load foaming from his timed slimer and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my minge mucus trickling from my cock holster, his gristle missile is going to leave my clap flaps resembling an over inflated dinghy. The feeling of his gentleman's relish weeping down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
There was cock snot frothing from his batter blaster and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. He crowned a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my sweater puppies just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. My tampon tunnel was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. With my lunchmeat now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start stuffing my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a colon cobra, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his disco stick stuffed deeper into my mud flap. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my fallopian fish stock trickling from my fuck trench, his cunt stretcher is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a gutted trout. When he removed his purple beaver buster from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the Mr. Hanky off his cream reaper. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his womb ferret made my minge monsoon foam like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The unrelenting orgasms from his ramrod fucking my smush mitten made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his love muscle soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My mouth was so full of ramrod and penis pudding, the cock snot was flowing down my chin and onto my droopies. It was bliss having his throbbing quim dagger plunged inside me again; stuffing my ruby cave with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my chlamydia canal surging like it used to. The feeling of his cock snot slobbering down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his batter blaster hammering deep into my salmon slit, the sensation of his washington monument smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. The hammering makes me spit my clunge gunge all over his bald avenger. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my wunder down under and a gerbil up my tradesman's entrance. I awoke the next morning with my gaping clam cavern still dribbling. I thought it was over but his Nelson's Column had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard frothing from my marmite motorway and all over my panty hamster. After having my quim slammed, he then proceeded to raid my soft tight anus. By now, my vibrator crater was draining like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The thrusting of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his flesh gordon deep in my Mavis Fritter. I can't wait to consume the steamin' semen from his purple-headed trouser snake. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and steamin' semen in my balloon knot created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of.
I awoke the next morning with my salmon slit still weeping. I thought it was over but his ramrod had other ideas. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? It was bliss having his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon shoved inside me again; stuffing my penis pothole with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my gashtray gushing like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss slobbering from my turd cutter and all over my beef curtains. After having my sperm socket raided, he then proceeded to raid my chocolate starfish. The unrelenting orgasms from his pink tractor beam pounding my cod crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. If I don't buff the muff to get my minge mucus sliming from my cock holster, his sperminator is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling Brian May's plughole. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his gristle missile soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. My mouth was so full of skeleton king and ectoplasm, the penis pudding was dripping down my chin and onto my chest puppies. With his cream reaper slamming deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet, the sensation of his cumtree smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blue-veined custard chucker slid deeper into my ring piece. There was love mayonnaise haemorrhaging from his tenderloin truncheon and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The mixture of Mr. Hanky
and love piss in my fart valve created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my Quimcy, M.E. and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my turd-herder. He dropped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my love bubbles just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. My vibration station was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. When he removed his all-beef thermometer from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the toilet twinkie off his clunger. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his cumtree made my pussy batter weep like a slug in a salt mine. The slamming of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his disco stick deep in my Oxo orifice. The plowing makes me flood my clunge gunge all over his one-eyed milkman. The feeling of his man fat weeping down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now, my kipper dinghy was seeping like a jizz waterfall. I can't wait to suck the love piss from his cunt plunger.