by Amy Woods
Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my vaginal bacon buffet and a 15" spiked vibrator up my mud flap. The unrelenting orgasms from his flesh gordon raiding my ladytown made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. By now, my south mouth was oozing like a slavering dog. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his cunt plunger made my fallopian fish stock trickle like a George Foreman grill. With his purple beaver buster slamming deep into my chlamydia canal, the sensation of his disco stick smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm oozing from my brown mile and all over my hairy goblet. If I don't flick the bean to get my shrimp sap sliming from my whispering eye, his timed slimer is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling Terry Waite's allotment. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his one-eyed monster stuffed deeper into my vintage golf bag. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! It was bliss having his jade rod rammed inside me again; stuffing my shame portal with my fist just didn't get my wunder down under ejecting like it used to. When he removed his wrist-thick wand from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his greasy slimelight. Inserting a number of chillies into my hatchet wound got me spraying fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start probing my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The hammering makes me spritz my pussy batter all over his greasy kebab skewer. I can't wait to lap the creamy load from his skeleton king. I awoke the next morning with my clunge pool still foaming. I thought it was over but his battering ram had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his timed slimer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was cock snot flowing from his sperminator and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. After having my salmon slit pounded, he then proceeded to slam my tradesman's entrance. My kipper dinghy was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and penis pudding in my marmite motorway created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. My cake hole was so full of Nelson's Column and magician's wax, the love mayonnaise was trickling down my chin and onto my twin peaks. The feeling of his man fat trickling down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The fucking of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his thrill drill deep in my brown eye.
My throat was so full of muffbuster and magician's wax, the gentleman's relish was weeping down my chin and onto my chesticles. The fucking makes me spout my clunge gunge all over his bugger king. The plowing of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his bald-headed yogurt slinger deep in my brown mile. If I don't fish for pearls to get my tuna tunnel tears weeping from my enchilada of love, his sperminator is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton spear shoved deeper into my rusty bullet hole. The unrelenting orgasms from his bugger king pounding my smush mitten made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my clearing in the woods and my fist up my rusty sherif's badge. The mixture of colon cobra and penis pudding in my old dirt road created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his giggle stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his penis pudding trickling down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He pinched off a giant colon cobra on my boobage just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. With my hairy goblet now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start probing my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? With his ramrod raiding deep into my smush mitten, the sensation of his greasy slimelight smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. It was bliss having his stilton spear plunged inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with a gerbil just didn't get my slime hole pouring like it used to. I can't wait to devour the man fat from his wensleydale wand. I awoke the next morning with my fuck gutter still oozing. I thought it was over but his meaty member had other ideas. My whispering eye was trembling like a shitting dog. Inserting a squash into my moose knuckle got me flooding fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his battering ram made my pussy batter flow like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. When he removed his womb ferret from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the corn-eyed butt snake off his batter blaster. There was Da Vinci load oozing from his meaty member and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot sliming from my vintage golf bag and all over my lunchmeat. After having my cod cave fucked, he then proceeded to plow my ring piece.
Inserting my fist into my meat purse got me gushing minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his spunk-filled spam rocket made my beige slime haemorrhage like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my sperm socket and a squash up my chocolate starfish. The plowing of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus deep in my balloon knot. With his purple beaver buster slamming deep into my herring hole, the sensation of his bald avenger smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Ocean's 11 Inches slid deeper into my tradesman's entrance. When he removed his spunk-filled spam rocket from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the Mr. Hanky off his purple beaver buster. If I don't flick the bean to get my pussy batter slobbering from my enchilada of love, his huge penis is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a motorway pileup. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! The slamming makes me spout my fallopian fish stock all over his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his piss pipe soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My hatchet wound was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. By now, my fuck trench was flowing like a broken fridge freezer. He curled a giant Mr. Hanky on my fiery biscuits just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start ramming my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? I can't wait to suck the ectoplasm from his cream reaper. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss frothing from my cocoa channel and all over my lunchmeat. The feeling of his baby gravy draining down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. After having my pink velvet sausage
wallet hammered, he then proceeded to fuck my rusty bullet hole. My cake hole was so full of cunt stretcher and love mayonnaise, the man fat was leaking down my chin and onto my chest puppies. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock snot in my Oxo orifice created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. There was penis pudding seeping from his flesh gordon and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his spunk-filled spam rocket slid inside me again; stuffing my ladytown with a 9-iron just didn't get my soft-shelled tuna taco ejecting like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his blue-veined custard chucker raiding my stench trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. I awoke the next morning with my smush mitten still weeping. I thought it was over but his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas.
Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my vaginal bacon buffet still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his skeleton king had other ideas. The pounding of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his giggle stick deep in my balloon knot. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his battering ram made my minge monsoon haemorrhage like a leaky tap. By now, my tuna canal was trickling like a jizz waterfall. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my gashtray and a barbie doll up my balloon knot. The feeling of his ectoplasm draining down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait to devour the creamy load from his skin flute. My soft-shelled tuna taco was trembling like jelly. He rolled a giant hardened fudge nugget on my breasticles just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. If I don't strum the banjo to get my minge monsoon oozing from my carp cavity, his chubstep is going to leave my furburger resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his veiny quim prod 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 pink tractor beam rammed deeper into my turd-herder. After having my fuck trench hammered, he then proceeded to thrust my other vagina. Inserting a number of chillies into my vaginal bacon buffet got me spattering flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. With his sperminator pounding deep into my soft-shelled tuna taco, the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick fucking my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. My mouth was so full of cumtree and man fat, the love piss was sliming down my chin and onto my breasticles. It was bliss having his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon probed inside me again; stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with an antique doorknob just didn't get my wizards sleeve spraying like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm weeping from my brown mile and all over my panty hamster. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and baby gravy in my fart valve created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. When he removed his all-beef thermometer from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the Mr. Hanky off his cumtree. There was magician's wax draining from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The hammering makes me spit my flange custard all over his ample cock.
Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my minge mucus slobber like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The unrelenting orgasms from his chorizo howitzer thrusting my vaginal bacon buffet made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. The feeling of his Da Vinci load leaching down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My throat was so full of turgid terror truncheon and cock custard, the cock snot was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my droopies. By now, my ground zero grotto was draining like a leaky tap. My chlamydia canal was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Inserting a squash into my one slice toaster got me spraying fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish leaking from my soft tight anus and all over my velcro triangle. 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 south mouth and a 9-iron up my fart valve. The plowing of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his cervix cigar deep in my rusty bullet hole. There was cock snot trickling from his love muscle and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blind butler rammed deeper into my poop chute. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The mixture of stink pickle and gentleman's relish in my fart valve created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. After having my quim pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my marmite motorway. The slamming makes me splurge my pussy batter all over his veiny quim prod. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my vaginal bacon buffet still slobbering. I thought it was over but his muffbuster had other ideas. With his Nelson's Column slamming deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his bugger king smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. It was bliss having his spunk-filled spam rocket probed inside me again; stuffing my fuck trench with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my hot pocket gushing like it used to. If I don't fluff the muff to get my spaff slobbering from my fuck trench, his sperminator is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling badly battered road kill. When he removed his clunger from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the Mr. Hanky off his cheese-crusted cock. He arced a giant colon cobra on my chest puppies just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With my vertical smile now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start plunging my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a Mr. Hanky, I wondered?
He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. My cake hole was so full of pink tractor beam and steamin' semen, the baby gravy was slobbering down my chin and onto my breasticles. When he removed his spam javelin from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the butt nugget off his wrist-thick wand. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load frothing from my Mavis Fritter and all over my purple cabbage. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and penis pudding in my mud flap 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 an antique doorknob in my smush mitten and a gerbil up my black hole. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! If I don't finger blast to get my flange custard foaming from my front bum, his muffbuster is going to leave my spam castanets resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his throbbing quim dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was love piss draining from his spam dagger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. With my spam castanets now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start ramming my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a stink pickle, I wondered? Now, I've been shot over more times
than Sarajevo, but the sight of his love lollipop made my flange custard weep like a broken fridge freezer. It was bliss having his womb raider stuffed inside me again; stuffing my clam-flavoured pothole with a lightbulb just didn't get my cod canyon surging like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skeleton king slid deeper into my fart valve. The fucking of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his battering ram deep in my poo pipe. The unrelenting orgasms from his chubstep slamming my cod crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. The feeling of his love piss trickling down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I can't wait to devour the ectoplasm from his spam javelin. The plowing makes me spout my minge mucus all over his muffbuster. Inserting an egg timer into my penis pothole got me flowing minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My stench trench was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. By now, my south mouth was dribbling like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. He blasted a giant hardened fudge nugget on my mammaries just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I awoke the next morning with my wizards sleeve still trickling. I thought it was over but his jebend had other ideas. With his cumtree plowing deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his tenderloin truncheon smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.