by Amy Woods
When he removed his giggle stick from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his pink tractor beam. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my flange custard haemorrhaging from my stench trench, his womb ferret is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a hippo's yawn. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! The feeling of his baby gravy dripping down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my cod canyon and an antique doorknob up my chocolate starfish. There was gentleman's relish oozing from his gristle missile and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. With his wensleydale wand slamming deep into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his cumtree smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his chubstep soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of wensleydale wand and penis pudding, the love piss was oozing down my chin and onto my cans. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his battering ram slid deeper into my poo pipe. My tampon tunnel was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his turgid terror truncheon made my vertical moisture slobber like a George Foreman grill. Inserting a number of chillies into my moose knuckle got me splurging tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. The hammering of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his giggle stick deep in my cocoa channel. The unrelenting orgasms from his cunt plunger fucking my front bum made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat weeping from my turd cutter and all over my vertical garden. After having my oyster ditch fucked, he then proceeded to slam my old dirt road. By now, my chamber of squelch was slobbering like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The mixture of sewer trout and gentleman's relish in my old dirt road created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He arced a giant toilet twinkie on my love bubbles just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The thrusting makes me spritz my fallopian fish stock all over his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. I can't wait to gobble the cock custard from his greasy kebab skewer. With my lunchmeat now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start shoving my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a stink pickle, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my birth cannon still draining. I thought it was over but his battering ram had other ideas.
The thrusting of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his tallywacker deep in my Mavis Fritter. It was bliss having his clunger stuffed inside me again; stuffing my chamber of squelch with a 9-iron just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag flowing like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss flowing from my mud flap and all over my vertical garden. I awoke the next morning with my ruby cave still leaching. I thought it was over but his one-eyed monster had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his tenderloin truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my fuck trench thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my fudge factory. With my beef curtains now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start plunging my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his meaty member made my beige slime foam like a jizz waterfall. The unrelenting orgasms from his chorizo howitzer fucking my sperm socket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. By now, my tuna canal was flowing like a broken fridge freezer. The feeling of his cock snot flowing down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and cock snot in my brown eye created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I can't wait to lap the creamy load from his master of ceremonies. The hammering makes me flow my shrimp sap all over his Nelson's Column. If I don't flick the bean to get my vertical moisture foaming from my bearded haddock pasty, his balony pony is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a shot cat. With his kebeb skewer slamming deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his skin flute smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Inserting a squash into my meat purse got me spritzing beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit. My mouth was so full of disco stick and cock custard, the penis pudding was frothing down my chin and onto my top bollocks. There was creamy load slobbering from his turgid terror truncheon and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. He dropped a giant toilet twinkie on my fiery biscuits just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. My clunge pool was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. 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 squash in my one slice toaster and a number of chillies up my balloon knot. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cheese-crusted cock stuffed deeper into my tradesman's entrance.
If I don't play the clitar to get my spaff draining from my vaginal bacon buffet, his jade rod is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. He dropped a giant sewer trout on my superdroopers just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. When he removed his brie baton from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the footlong fudge bullet off his master of ceremonies. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger plowing my chamber of squelch made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. There was man fat seeping from his brie baton and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The thrusting makes me spray my sex wee all over his meaty member. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot sliming from my chocolate starfish and all over my meaty hangers. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love lollipop slid deeper into my ring piece. Inserting an egg timer into my mound of love pudding got me pouring tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his chubstep soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The pounding of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his cunt plunger deep in my mud flap. By now, my fuck gutter was frothing like a slavering dog. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! The feeling of his man fat foaming down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. With my furburger now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start shoving my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my fuck trench and a barbie doll up my rusty sherif's badge. My mouth was so full of meaty member and gentleman's relish, the gentleman's relish was dripping down my chin and onto my droopies. My herring hole was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. After having my sperm socket plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my black hole. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock custard in my shit winker created the delicious s
phincter sauce that he was so fond of. With his skin flute hammering deep into my calamari cockring, the sensation of his cunt plunger smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. It was bliss having his love lollipop rammed inside me again; stuffing my vaginal bacon buffet with my fist just didn't get my chlamydia canal squirting like it used to. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his vein cane made my sex wee slime like a hungry pig at a trough. I can't wait to suck the love mayonnaise from his piss pipe.
The raiding makes me eject my tuna tunnel tears all over his brie baton. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my sex wee leaking from my gaping clam cavern, his kebeb skewer is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a gutted trout. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my spaff ooze like a jizz waterfall. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed monster pounding my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my hot pocket got me flooding minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. With my purple cabbage now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start ramming my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a butt nugget, I wondered? By now, my cod canyon was dribbling like a leaky tap. He curled a giant sewer trout on my top bollocks just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his pink tractor beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot oozing from my fart valve and all over my lunchmeat. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! My herring hole was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. It was bliss having his chorizo howitzer shoved inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with a barbie doll just didn't get my ruby cave ejecting like it used to. The mixture of sewer trout and Da Vinci load in my balloon knot created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my moose knuckle and an egg timer up my puckered brown eye. My mouth was so full of tallywacker and love piss, the love mayonnaise was frothing down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. There was cock custard leaching from his cumtree and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my carp cavity still frothing. I thought it was over but his stilton sword had other ideas. When he removed his meaty member from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the hardened fudge nugget off his cunt stretcher. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jebend plunged deeper into my old dirt road. After having my hot pocket raided, he then proceeded to pound my poop chute. With his bald avenger pounding deep into my sperm socket, the sensation of his turgid terror truncheon smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. The feeling of his steamin' semen trickling down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to chow down on the penis pudding from his purple beaver buster.
When he removed his spunk-filled spam rocket from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the Mr. Hanky off his brie baton. 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 fuck gutter and a barbie doll up my poop chute. With my panty hamster now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start probing my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The fucking of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his cream reaper deep in my turd-herder. My mouth was so full of purple beaver buster and love mayonnaise, the love piss was weeping down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen draining from my brown mile and all over my lunchmeat. There was penis pudding leaking from his spam javelin and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his vein cane stuffed inside me again; stuffing my one slice toaster with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my wunder down under squirting like it used to. With his cunt plunger hammering deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. I awoke the next morning with my cod cave still slobbering. I thought it was over but his cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his love lollipop fucking my meat purse made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. He crowned a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my boobage just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. The thrusting makes me flood my spaff all over his huge penis. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his chorizo howitzer made my flange custard ooze like a hungry pig at a trough. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and ectoplasm in my soft tight anus created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. After having my wizards sleeve slammed, he then proceeded to pound my chocolate starfish. Inserting a 9-iron into my birth cannon got me spouting flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his wensleydale wand probed deeper into my other vagina. If I don't tune the tuna to get my shrimp sap frothing from my hatchet wound, his washington monument is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. By now, my hatchet wound was trickling like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. My whispering eye was trembling like a shitting dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his love lollipop soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! The feeling of his cock custard haemorrhaging down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than snot off a whip.
I can't wait to devour the penis pudding from his slut slayer. The pounding makes me spout my vertical moisture all over his ample cock. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load sliming from my rusty bullet hole and all over my beef curtains. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. With his sperminator plowing deep into my clearing in the woods, the sensation of his stilton spear smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The pounding of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his clunger deep in my black hole. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and ectoplasm in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his devil's bagpipe soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my fishy flaps now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start sliding my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? My carp cavity was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. He copped a giant Mr. Hanky on my droopies just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. My throat was so full of chubstep and love piss, the gentleman's relish was dripping down my chin and onto my superdroopers. When he removed his spunk-filled spam rocket from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the colon cobra off his one-eyed milkman. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my salmon slit and
a gerbil up my brown mile. After having my shame portal fucked, he then proceeded to raid my fudge factory. By now, my kipper dinghy was leaking like a broken fridge freezer. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his timed slimer made my spaff drip like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. If I don't finger blast to get my beige slime weeping from my one slice toaster, his greasy kebab skewer is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cheese-crusted cock rammed deeper into my soft tight anus. I awoke the next morning with my tuna canal still trickling. I thought it was over but his meaty member had other ideas. The feeling of his ectoplasm leaching down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his greasy kebab skewer rammed inside me again; stuffing my front bum with an antique doorknob just didn't get my chlamydia canal squirting like it used to. There was creamy load foaming from his meaty member and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his vein cane plowing my penis pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional.