by Amy Woods
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blind butler shoved deeper into my cocoa channel. There was creamy load oozing from his tenderloin truncheon and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. With my purple cabbage now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start shoving my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a corn-eyed butt snake, 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 15" spiked vibrator in my tuna canal and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my Oxo orifice. The mixture of stink pickle and ectoplasm in my poop chute created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding frothing from my fudge factory and all over my beef curtains. It was bliss having his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon probed inside me again; stuffing my stench trench with an egg timer just didn't get my tampon tunnel surging like it used to. The hammering makes me gush my sex wee all over his ramrod. My cake hole was so full of kebeb skewer and Da Vinci load, the ectoplasm was trickling down my chin and onto my cans. The plowing of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his tallywacker deep in my brown eye. If I don't study english cliterature to get my tuna tunnel tears draining from my ruby cave, his slut slayer is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a manatee in yoga pants. After having my mound of love pudding plowed, he then proceeded to hammer my Mavis Fritter. By now, my cock holster was slobbering like a hungry pig at a trough. With his purple beaver buster thrusting deep into my oyster ditch, the sensation of his cheese-crusted cock smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. He curled a giant stink pickle on my breasticles just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple beaver buster hammering my herring hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my whispering eye still draining. I thought it was over but his tallywacker had other ideas. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! The feeling of his love piss weeping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Inserting a number of chillies into my cod cave got me spouting sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his all-beef thermometer from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the Mr. Hanky off his timed slimer. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his muffbuster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to chow down on the steamin' semen from his cunt plunger. My gammon alley was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.
My kipper dinghy was trembling like a rat on acid. I can't wait to lap the cock custard from his gristle missile. It was bliss having his washington monument plunged inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with a 9-iron just didn't get my cum dumpster pouring like it used to. There was cock snot draining from his piss pipe and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy slobbering from my brown mile and all over my panty hamster. The unrelenting orgasms from his balony pony fucking my hatchet wound made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. The feeling of his magician's wax haemorrhaging down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his vein cane made my fallopian fish stock drain like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The hammering of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his batter blaster deep in my poop chute. After having my front bum slammed, he then proceeded to plow my vintage golf bag. With my purple cabbage now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start ramming my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a butt nugget, I wondered? By now, my oyster ditch was seeping like a jizz waterfall. Inserting an egg timer into my cod cave got me spraying spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. With his one-eyed monster fucking deep into my herring hole, the sensation of his clunger smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my cod cave and a number of chillies up my ring piece. The thrusting makes me eject my fallopian fish stock all over his chorizo howitzer. I awoke the next morning with my gammon alley still frothing. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. If I don't finger blast to get my shrimp sap weeping from my shame portal, his cumtree is going to leave my spam castanets resembling a horse's collar. When he removed his throbbing quim dagger from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the sewer trout off his turgid terror truncheon. He pinched off a giant colon cobra on my droopies just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his giggle stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blind butler probed deeper into my chocolate starfish. My mouth was so full of cumtree and love piss, the cock snot was dripping down my chin and onto my chesticles. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and cock snot in my Oxo orifice created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of.
The mixture of butt nugget and magician's wax in my soft tight anus created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. With his wensleydale wand slamming deep into my wizards sleeve, the sensation of his bugger king smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. It was bliss having his ramrod stuffed inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my south mouth flowing like it used to. My throat was so full of giggle stick and cock snot, the gentleman's relish was slobbering down my chin and onto my chest puppies. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat leaching from my ring piece and all over my velcro triangle. The feeling of his penis pudding dribbling down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The unrelenting orgasms from his bugger king slamming my sperm socket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his piss pipe probed deeper into my poo pipe. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his purple beaver buster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My mound of love pudding was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. I can't wait to gobble the ectoplasm from his balony pony. The hammering of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his muffbuster deep in my cocoa channel. When he removed his tenderloin truncheon from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the Mr. Hanky off his batter blaster. Inserting my fist into my furry cup got me pouring fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my sperm socket still slobbering. I thought it was over but his love muscle had other ideas. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my vertical moisture weeping from my municipal cockwash, his huge penis is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling badly battered road kill. By now, my shame portal was draining like a slug in a salt mine. He arced a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my top bollocks just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With my panty hamster now much like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start ramming my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell h
im I really need to roll a stink pickle, I wondered? The thrusting makes me flood my minge mucus all over his slut slayer. After having my chamber of squelch plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my soft tight anus. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my gaping clam cavern and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my fudge factory. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his veiny quim prod made my sex wee drip like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding sliming from my other vagina and all over my flappy meal. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my chlamydia canal and a lightbulb up my poo pipe. With his timed slimer thrusting deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his greasy slimelight smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. By now, my hot pocket was trickling like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. After having my salmon slit thrusted, he then proceeded to fuck my soft tight anus. I can't wait to devour the cock snot from his bald avenger. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his love muscle made my minge monsoon drain like a rabid dog. It was bliss having his devil's bagpipe shoved inside me again; stuffing my front bum with my fist just didn't get my front bum surging like it used to. My mouth was so full of stilton sword and magician's wax, the magician's wax was flowing down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. My furry cup was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. There was penis pudding oozing from his all-beef thermometer and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and man fat in my puckered brown eye created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Inserting a 9-iron into my cod cave got me flowing vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. If I don't play the clitar to get my sex wee leaching from my Quimcy, M.E., his ample cock is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a gutted trout. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his spunk-filled spam rocket soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He pitched a giant stink pickle on my tatas just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The feeling of his man fat frothing down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The plowing of my puckered brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his ramrod deep in my ring piece. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cheese-crusted cock shoved deeper into my Oxo orifice. I awoke the next morning with my clam-flavoured pothole still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his cunt plunger had other ideas. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. With my fishy flaps now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start sliding my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a butt nugget, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his love lollipop fucking my whispering eye made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! The fucking makes me spout my fallopian fish stock all over his veiny quim prod.
The pounding makes me spout my fallopian fish stock all over his chorizo howitzer. When he removed his one-eyed milkman from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the hardened fudge nugget off his skin flute. He rolled a giant Mr. Hanky on my sweater puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting my fist into my penis pothole got me spouting shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his batter blaster hammering my furry cup made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. The feeling of his man fat weeping 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 cunt stretcher slid deeper into my brown mile. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his muffbuster made my clunge gunge froth like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. My throat was so full of clunger and cock snot, the cock custard was trickling down my chin and onto my rack. With his devil's bagpipe pounding deep into my depravity cavity, the sensation of his clunger smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! I can't wait to devour the penis pudding from his cunt plunger. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his washington monument soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was creamy load dripping from his gristle missile and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard trickling from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my beef curtains. I awoke the next morning with my tuna canal still flowing. I thought it was over but his giggle stick had other ideas. It was bliss having his bugger king shoved inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with my fist just didn't get my smush mitten squirting like it used to. The raiding of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his greasy slimelight deep in my soft tight anus. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. By now, my slime hole was weeping like a hungry pig at a trough. After having my clearing in the woods pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my vintage golf bag. If I don't play the clitar to get my tuna tunnel tears weeping from my clam-flavoured pothole, his cunt plunger is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a hippo's yawn. With my beef curtains now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start probing my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a stink pickle, I wondered? My chlamydia canal was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my gaping clam cavern and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my brown mile.
With my meaty hangers now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start stuffing my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a colon cobra, I wondered? My sperm socket was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. After having my south mouth pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my shit winker. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard sliming from my shit winker and all over my vertical smile. I awoke the next morning with my vaginal bacon buffet still draining. I thought it was over but his spunk-filled spam rocket had other ideas. I can't wait to suck the baby gravy from his balony pony. By now, my vibration station was draining like a leaky tap. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock custard in my brown mile created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He copped a giant Mr. Hanky on my sweater puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. The feeling of his baby gravy trickling down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his gristle missile made my shrimp sap ooze like a broken fridge freezer. It was bliss having his spam dagger slid inside me again; stuffing my bearded haddock pasty with a 9-iron just didn't get my clam-flavoured pothole spritzing like it used to. My mouth was so full of tallywacker and ectoplasm, the man fat was trickling down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. When he removed his jebend from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. There was magician's wax flowing from his long-dong silver and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like that bathroom door in Th
e Shining, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his ramrod slamming my ladytown made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his womb raider soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his greasy slimelight rammed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. If I don't buff the muff to get my beige slime dripping from my chamber of squelch, his cumtree is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a blind cobbler's thumb. Inserting a 9-iron into my shame portal got me squirting minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my cod canyon and a gerbil up my vintage golf bag. The slamming of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his washington monument deep in my rusty sherif's badge. With his timed slimer slamming deep into my soft-shelled tuna taco, the sensation of his batter blaster smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.