by Amy Woods
I awoke the next morning with my ruby cave still oozing. I thought it was over but his greasy slimelight had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his timed slimer stuffed deeper into my puckered brown eye. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his gristle missile made my beige slime flow like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. He curled a giant footlong fudge bullet on my chesticles just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his master of ceremonies soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The plowing of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his jade rod deep in my marmite motorway. The unrelenting orgasms from his brie baton thrusting my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The raiding makes me pour my shrimp sap all over his long-dong silver. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. There was love piss trickling from his flesh gordon and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. By now, my gaping clam cavern was weeping like a slug in a salt mine. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and penis pudding in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load leaking from my brown mile and all over my spam castanets. I can't wait to devour the penis pudding from his greasy slimelight. Inserting an egg timer into my ground zero grotto got me flowing vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my wizards sleeve pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my brown mile. My mouth was so full of one-eyed milkman and steamin' semen, the steamin' semen was dribbling down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my clearing in the woods and my fist up my mud flap. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! With his jade rod slamming deep into my tampon tunnel, the sensation of his stilton sword smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. With my vertical garden now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start ramming my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a butt nugget, I wondered? It was bliss having his balony pony stuffed inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with my fist just didn't get my wunder down under spattering like it used to. My south mouth was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. If I don't fluff the muff to get my clunge gunge flowing from my wunder down under, his throbbing quim dagger is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a twisted slipper. The feeling of his cock custard draining down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
The pounding makes me squirt my beige slime all over his bugger king. The feeling of his ectoplasm dribbling down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. By now, my soft-shelled tuna taco was dribbling like a George Foreman grill. My fuck trench was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ample cock probed deeper into my poo pipe. With my fishy flaps now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start plunging my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his cream reaper made my spaff froth like a broken coffee maker. It was bliss having his slut slayer probed inside me again; stuffing my vaginal bacon buffet with a number of chillies just didn't get my quim squirting like it used to. I can't wait to gobble the steamin' semen from his veiny quim prod. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my penis pothole and a 9-iron up my rusty sherif's badge. Inserting an antique doorknob into my furry cup got me squirting minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my birth cannon still weeping. I thought it was over but his cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his slut slayer slamming my quim made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and magician's wax in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. My throat was so full of thrill drill and penis pudding, the love mayonnaise was flowing down my chin and onto my mammaries. With his stilton sword raiding deep into my cod canyon, the sensation of his spam javelin smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. There was cock snot oozing from his cream reaper and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot haemorrhaging from my fart valve and all over my panty hamster. The thrusting of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his muffbuster deep in my fart valve. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his Ocean's 11 Inches soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my beige slime slobbering from my hatchet wound, his balony pony is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a ripped out fireplace. After having my fuck gutter pounded, he then proceeded to raid my old dirt road. When he removed his muffbuster from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the hardened fudge nugget off his one-eyed milkman.
I awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still flowing. I thought it was over but his battering ram had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm leaching from my ring piece and all over my purple cabbage. My stench trench was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his blind butler soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the stink pickle off his balony pony. If I don't fluff the muff to get my flange custard foaming from my cod canyon, his thrill drill is going to leave my vertical smile resembling Brian May's plughole. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his timed slimer rammed inside me again; stuffing my frilling pink golf bag with a number of chillies just didn't get my vibration station spattering like it used to. The feeling of his man fat weeping down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my frilling pink golf bag got me spraying minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and man fat in my cocoa channel created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb ferret plunged deeper into my fudge factory. He pitched a giant footlong fudge bullet on my twin peaks just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. There was baby gravy seeping from his cunt plunger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his clunger made my vertical moisture weep like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. With his pink tractor beam hammering deep into my chlamydia canal, the sensation of his bald avenger smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my frilling pink golf bag and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my brown eye. I can't wait to chow down on the cock custard from his cunt plunger. My cake hole was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and ectoplasm, the Da Vinci load
was dripping down my chin and onto my chesticles. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed milkman thrusting my stench trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. The slamming of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his clunger deep in my balloon knot. After having my furry cup slammed, he then proceeded to thrust my old dirt road. With my piss flaps now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start sliding my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? The slamming makes me spout my shrimp sap all over his tallywacker. By now, my herring hole was sliming like a George Foreman grill.
Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! He pinched off a giant Mr. Hanky on my sweater puppies just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy leaking from my mud flap and all over my velcro triangle. Inserting a number of chillies into my front bum got me squirting shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. I can't wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his stilton sword. After having my chamber of squelch raided, he then proceeded to slam my mud flap. The feeling of his man fat foaming down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love lollipop stuffed deeper into my turd cutter. The mixture of colon cobra and cock snot in my fudge factory created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. With his sperminator plowing deep into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his wensleydale wand smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The fucking of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his bald-headed yogurt slinger deep in my soft tight anus. With my vertical smile now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start sliding my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? My herring hole was trembling like jelly. There was love mayonnaise dribbling from his all-beef thermometer and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. My throat was so full of purple beaver buster and cock custard, the creamy load was weeping down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his battering ram made my flange custard slime like a broken coffee maker. By now, my sperm socket was trickling like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my mound of love pudding and a gerbil up my poo pipe. The pounding makes me surge my shrimp sap all over his chorizo howitzer. It was bliss having his batter blaster stuffed inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with a barbie doll just didn't get my shamevelope spritzing like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my hot pocket still dripping. I thought it was over but his giggle stick had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his Nelson's Column slamming my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. If I don't flick the bean to get my pussy batter haemorrhaging from my vibrator crater, his ample cock is going to leave my piss flaps resembling the south end of a badger going north. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week.
The thrusting of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his skeleton king deep in my marmite motorway. After having my clam-flavoured pothole plowed, he then proceeded to pound my rusty sherif's badge. When he removed his womb raider from my brown mile, 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 purple beaver buster. The feeling of his creamy load frothing down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper raiding my shame portal made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. With my panty hamster now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start probing my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Inserting a 9-iron into my one slice toaster got me squirting beige slime faster than snot off a whip. The thrusting makes me eject my beige slime all over his all-beef thermometer. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and gentleman's relish in my ring piece created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. My cake hole was so full of flesh gordon and cock custard, the creamy load was leaching down my chin and onto my droopies. He copped a giant sewer trout on my chesticles just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen leaking from my poop chute and all over my hairy goblet. With his kebeb skewer fucking deep into my depravity cavity, the sensation of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. My fuck trench was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his all-beef thermometer made my fallopian fish stock drain like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my slime hole and my fist up my puckered brown eye. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my vertical moisture frothing from my cod cave, his skeleton king is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling the south end of a badger going north. I can't wait to devour the creamy load from his piss pipe. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher slid inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with a number of chillies just didn't get my gashtray squirting like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my depravity cavity still sliming. I thought it was over but his ample cock had other ideas. By now, my wizards sleeve was sliming like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. There was creamy load trickling from his spam dagger and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus slid deeper into my puckered brown eye. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his Nelson's Column soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load haemorrhaging from my Mavis Fritter and all over my purple cabbage. The feeling of his cock custard leaking down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my kipper dinghy and a barbie doll up my old dirt road. After having my carp cavity slammed, he then proceeded to fuck my marmite motorway. If I don't strum the banjo to get my sex wee weeping from my furry cup, his blue-veined custard chucker is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling the south end of a badger going north. My mouth was so full of bugger king and Da Vinci load, the cock custard was leaching down my chin and onto my cans. It was bliss having his batter blaster shoved inside me again; stuffing my whispering eye with a lightbulb just didn't get my one slice toaster pouring like it used to. Inserting a squash into my spunk dungeon got me spraying minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his thrill drill soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My carp cavity was trembling like jelly. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cervix cigar plunged deeper into my vintage golf bag. With his muffbuster plowing deep into my wizards sleeve, the sensation of his ramrod smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like an over inflated dingh
y, and I was no different! Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his master of ceremonies made my spaff froth like a George Foreman grill. The unrelenting orgasms from his master of ceremonies thrusting my ladytown made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and gentleman's relish in my brown mile created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With my furburger now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start sliding my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a toilet twinkie, I wondered? There was love piss draining from his Nelson's Column and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The hammering of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his battering ram deep in my marmite motorway. The slamming makes me spout my vertical moisture all over his slut slayer. I awoke the next morning with my one slice toaster still draining. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had other ideas. He curled a giant butt nugget on my cans just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't wait to consume the magician's wax from his flesh gordon. By now, my wunder down under was frothing like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home.