by Amy Woods
The feeling of his Da Vinci load draining down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his pink tractor beam rammed deeper into my brown mile. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his one-eyed monster made my shrimp sap drip like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his master of ceremonies soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my furry cup got me squirting minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. There was ectoplasm leaking from his ample cock and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding weeping from my old dirt road and all over my beef curtains. With my spam castanets now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start sliding my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a stink pickle, I wondered? Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a werewolf with it's throat cut, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his wensleydale wand slamming my one slice toaster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. It was bliss having his wensleydale wand rammed inside me again; stuffing my south mouth with a barbie doll just didn't get my penis pothole splurging like it used to. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my tampon tunnel and a lightbulb up my turd cutter. After having my gammon alley hammered, he then proceeded to slam my turd cutter. My mouth was so full of piss pipe and cock snot, the love piss was sliming down my chin and onto my mammaries. With his disco stick thrusting deep into my stench trench, the sensation of his love lollipop smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The thrusting makes me flow my vertical moisture all over his flesh gordon. When he removed his cumtree 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 hardened fudge nugget off his disco stick. By now, my spunk dungeon was foaming like a slavering dog. The mixture of colon cobra and love mayonnaise in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He dropped a giant stink pickle on my rack just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My clam-flavoured pothole was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The raiding of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his cream reaper deep in my soft tight anus. I awoke the next morning with my ladytown still leaching. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. If I don't tune the tuna to get my tuna tunnel tears flowing from my tampon tunnel, his all-beef thermometer is going to leave my vertical garden resembling Terry Waite's allotment.
With my roast beef platter now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start stuffing my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a butt nugget, I wondered? My chlamydia canal was trembling like a shitting dog. If I don't study english cliterature to get my shrimp sap haemorrhaging from my frilling pink golf bag, his thrill drill is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. The raiding makes me spritz my shrimp sap all over his washington monument. With his skeleton king thrusting deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his master of ceremonies smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. By now, my mound of love pudding was haemorrhaging like a slavering dog. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his jebend made my fallopian fish stock froth like a jizz waterfall. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my cock holster and a squash up my poop chute. There was steamin' semen slobbering from his wrist-thick wand and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss dripping from my Oxo orifice and all over my vertical garden. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. I can't wait to chow down on the cock snot from his skin flute. The feeling of his creamy load draining down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. It was bliss having his huge penis plunged inside me again; stuffing my cod crater with a number of chillies just didn't get my ground zero grotto spattering like it used to. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock custard in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my depravity cavity still frothing. I thought it was over but his greasy slimelight had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his cervix cigar soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! He dropped a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my chesticles just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. After having my cod crater pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my brown mile. The plowing of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his cheese-crusted cock deep in my turd cutter. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cheese-crusted cock stuffed deeper into my rusty bullet hole. When he removed his bugger king from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his cream reaper. Inserting an egg timer into my soft-shelled tuna taco got me surging shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My throat was so full of stilton sword and love mayonnaise, the ectoplasm was oozing down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits.
The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his purple beaver buster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The pounding of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his slut slayer deep in my poo pipe. When he removed his ramrod from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his disco stick. By now, my smush mitten was dripping like a broken fridge freezer. My mouth was so full of long-dong silver and penis pudding, the cock custard was frothing down my chin and onto my cans. There was cock custard weeping from his stilton spear and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. I can't wait to devour the baby gravy from his washington monument. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! The pounding makes me spritz my beige slime all over his love lollipop. It was bliss having his ample cock shoved inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my vibration station spritzing like it used to. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. With my panty hamster now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start plunging my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a butt nugget, I wondered? If I don't play the clitar to get my tuna tunnel tears trickling from my Quimcy, M.E., his one-eyed milkman is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a stamped bat. The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod pounding my clearing in the woods made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. Inserting a gerbil into my gammon alley got me surging flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of toilet twinkie and ectoplasm in my turd-herder created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his bald-headed yogurt slinger made my fallopian fish stock ooze like a rabid dog. I awoke the next morning with my clearing in the woods still leaching. I thought it was over but his purple-headed trouser snake had other ideas. He curled a giant colon cobra on my boobage just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough.
The feeling of his steamin' semen dribbling down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My municipal cockwash was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my kipper dinghy and an egg timer up my turd cutter. With his thrill drill pounding deep into my spunk dungeon, the sensation of his chorizo howitzer smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load leaching from my Oxo orifice and all over my roast beef platter. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his veiny quim prod probed deeper into my vintage golf bag.
He eased out a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my mosquito bites just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The mixture of sewer trout and penis pudding in my turd-herder created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. My gaping clam cavern was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. It was bliss having his blind butler shoved inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia canal with a barbie doll just didn't get my split peach gushing like it used to. I can't wait to chow down on the Da Vinci load from his wensleydale wand. After having my chamber of squelch hammered, he then proceeded to pound my turd-herder. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my clam-flavoured pothole and a number of chillies up my rusty bullet hole. By now, my mound of love pudding was foaming like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his purple beaver buster stuffed deeper into my old dirt road. The thrusting makes me flow my spaff all over his womb ferret. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load haemorrhaging from my fudge factory and all over my meaty hangers. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my pussy batter frothing from my birth cannon, his bald-headed yogurt slinger is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling an over inflated dinghy. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his one-eyed monster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a 9-iron into my ground zero grotto got me pouring beige slime faster than snot off a whip. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his chorizo howitzer made my minge mucus leak like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. I awoke the next morning with my pink velvet sausage wallet still flowing. I thought it was over but his skin flute had other ideas. The feeling of his creamy load sliming down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With his muffbuster pounding deep into my sperm socket, the sensation of his greasy slimelight smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. With my piss flaps now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start sliding my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a stink pickle, I wondered? My mouth was so full of spunk-filled spam rocket and cock custard, the love mayonnaise was weeping down my chin and onto my cans. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. There was man fat haemorrhaging from his love muscle and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The raiding of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his blue-veined custard chucker deep in my soft tight anus. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton spear pounding my carp cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory.
I awoke the next morning with my herring hole still draining. I thought it was over but his battering ram had other ideas. With my fishy flaps now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start shoving my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his piss pipe soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my spunk dungeon raided, he then proceeded to raid my poo pipe. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot frothing from my Oxo orifice and all over my fishy flaps. With his purple-headed trouser snake plowing deep into my front bum, the sensation of his spam javelin smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Inserting my fist into my bearded haddock pasty got me flooding flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to gobble the gentleman's relish from his cheese-crusted cock. The thrusting of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his bugger king deep in my marmite motorway. It was bliss having his stilton sword probed inside me again; stuffing my cod canyon with an egg timer just didn't get my whispering eye ejecting like it used to. By now, my vibrator crater was haemorrhaging like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. My mouth was so full of blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and steamin' semen, the cock snot was dripping down my chin and onto my tatas. 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 soft tight anus. He blasted a giant hardened fudge nugget on my top bollocks just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The feeling of his baby gravy slobbering down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. If I don't flick the bean to get my clunge gunge seeping from my frilling pink golf bag, his batter blaster is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a sand blasted tomato. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my cod cave and a 15" spiked vibrator up my turd-herder. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! The slamming makes me splurge my flange custard all over his tenderloin truncheon. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon made my tuna tunnel tears drip like a George Foreman grill. There was cock custard slobbering from his devil's bagpipe and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his cunt stretcher thrusting my one slice toaster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and love mayonnaise in my marmite motorway created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. When he removed his cheese-crusted cock from my puckered brown eye, 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 battering ram. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week.
He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. He arced a giant Mr. Hanky on my fiery biscuits just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding dribbling from my mud flap and all over my flappy meal. The fucking of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his love lollipop deep in my brown eye. The mixture of colon cobra and baby gravy in my ring piece created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. When he removed his blind butler from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the footlong fudge bullet off his kebeb skewer. The thrusting makes me spout my shrimp sap all over his bald avenger. If I don't play the clitar to get my minge mucus dripping from my herring hole, his greasy kebab skewer is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. It was bliss having his stilton spear stuffed inside me again; stuffing my chamber of squelch with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my stench trench gushing like it used to. By now, my meat purse was leaching like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. My clam-flavoured pothole was trembling like a rat on acid. With his greasy kebab skewer slamming deep into my chamber of squelch, the sensation of his balony pony smashing my ce
rvix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Inserting my fist into my herring hole got me flooding fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. There was Da Vinci load slobbering from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his bald avenger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my clunge pool fucked, he then proceeded to pound my poop chute. My mouth was so full of batter blaster and ectoplasm, the gentleman's relish was leaching down my chin and onto my rack. 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 chamber of squelch and an egg timer up my fart valve. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his blue-veined custard chucker made my minge mucus drip like a jizz waterfall. The feeling of his cock custard sliming down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his flesh gordon stuffed deeper into my soft tight anus. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! I can't wait to consume the creamy load from his cervix cigar. With my vertical smile now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start shoving my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his kebeb skewer thrusting my soft-shelled tuna taco made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container.