by Amy Woods
When he removed his love lollipop from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the Mr. Hanky off his giggle stick. With his skeleton king raiding deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his gristle missile smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. If I don't tune the tuna to get my beige slime flowing from my salmon slit, his purple beaver buster is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. Inserting a squash into my depravity cavity got me flowing spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his tallywacker made my shrimp sap flow like a slavering dog. The hammering of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his tenderloin truncheon deep in my brown mile. I can't wait to gobble the steamin' semen from his master of ceremonies. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my vibrator crater and an egg timer up my brown eye. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his womb raider soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was gentleman's relish leaking from his wrist-thick wand and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The mixture of sewer trout and steamin' semen in my ring piece created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. After having my tampon tunnel slammed, he then proceeded to plow my mud flap. My calamari cockring was trembling like a rat on acid. It was bliss having his brie baton stuffed inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam cavern with a number of chillies just didn't get my ground zero grotto gushing like it used to. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his purple beaver buster stuffed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. The unrelenting orgasms from his cumtree fucking my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. With my roast beef platter now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start sliding my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a stink pickle, I wondered? By now, my cod crater was seeping like a broken fridge freezer. He launched a giant footlong fudge bullet on my chesticles just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax frothing from my Oxo orifice and all over my meaty hangers. I awoke the next morning with my cod cave still slobbering. I thought it was over but his timed slimer had other ideas. The thrusting makes me flood my minge monsoon all over his cumtree. The feeling of his creamy load dripping down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.
The unrelenting orgasms from his skin flute hammering my clam-flavoured pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. After having my fuck gutter fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my chocolate starfish. The thrusting makes me eject my vertical moisture all over his spam javelin. My cake hole was so full of slut slayer and baby gravy, the man fat was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my cans. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax leaching from my old dirt road and all over my vertical garden. My hatchet wound was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his spunk-filled spam rocket soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my flange custard frothing from my sperm socket, his piss pipe is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a stuntman's knee. There was love piss foaming from his purple-headed trouser snake and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The hammering of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his stilton spear deep in my fudge factory. The mixture of butt nugget and love mayonnaise in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my slime hole still weeping. I thought it was over but his disco stick had other ideas. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. I can't wait to consume the man fat from his ramrod. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! Inserting an antique doorknob into my whispering eye got me squirting flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. With my roast beef platter now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start sliding my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? It was bliss having his cream reaper plunged inside me again; stuffing my spunk dungeon with a squash just didn't get my soft-shelled tuna taco flowing like it used to. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my wizards sleeve and an egg timer up my brown eye. With his kebeb skewer slamming deep into my fuck gutter, the sensation of his vein cane smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. When he removed his purple beaver buster from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the sewer trout off his wrist-thick wand. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his pink tractor beam slid deeper into my shit winker. By now, my carp cavity was frothing like a broken coffee maker. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his balony pony made my spaff froth like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. He cut a giant colon cobra on my sweater puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough.
He dropped a giant colon cobra on my cans just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his chubstep made my flange custard haemorrhage like a broken fridge freezer. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! The mixture of colon cobra and ectoplasm in my chocolate starfish created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his master of ceremonies raiding my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. If I don't study english cliterature to get my vertical moisture flowing from my one slice toaster, his flesh gordon is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a hippo's yawn. With my panty hamster now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start plunging my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his pink tractor beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The hammering makes me spritz my clunge gunge all over his brie baton. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss draining from my turd cutter and all over my hairy goblet. It was bliss having his master of ceremonies rammed inside me again; stuffing my fuck gutter with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my pink velvet sausage wallet ejecting like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my ladytown still dribbling. I thought it was over but his giggle stick had other ideas. There was magician's wax leaking from his stilton sword and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Inserting a 9-iron into my moose knuckle got me pouring sex wee faster than snot off a whip. I can't wait to chow down on the Da Vinci load from his blue-veined custard chucker. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. By now, my sperm socket was oozing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. When he removed his one-eyed milkman from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the butt nugget off his chorizo howitzer. The feeling of his magician's wax oozing down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The pounding of my turd cutter was so vigorous
, he soon found his man marbles joining his bald-headed yogurt slinger deep in my tradesman's entrance. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my clearing in the woods and an antique doorknob up my old dirt road. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his sperminator rammed deeper into my Oxo orifice. With his turgid terror truncheon plowing deep into my whispering eye, the sensation of his cunt stretcher smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. My penis pothole was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. After having my wizards sleeve hammered, he then proceeded to thrust my rusty bullet hole.
Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his womb ferret made my minge monsoon seep like a slavering dog. The pounding makes me spit my beige slime all over his Nelson's Column. After having my enchilada of love raided, he then proceeded to hammer my poop chute. If I don't fish for pearls to get my minge mucus slobbering from my tuna canal, his flesh gordon is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a stamped bat. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his piss pipe probed deeper into my vintage golf bag. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his disco stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my wunder down under and a squash up my cocoa channel. He crowned a giant sewer trout on my breasticles just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The feeling of his gentleman's relish dribbling down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was baby gravy foaming from his batter blaster and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. I can't wait to consume the man fat from his chorizo howitzer. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and magician's wax in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his greasy slimelight stuffed inside me again; stuffing my pink velvet sausage wallet with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my birth cannon splurging like it used to. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my hot pocket got me spritzing shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. My shamevelope was trembling like a rat on acid. When he removed his jebend from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his spam javelin. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. With my purple cabbage now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start plunging my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? With his meaty member hammering deep into my cod cave, the sensation of his love muscle smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The hammering of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his devil's bagpipe deep in my cocoa channel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy oozing from my balloon knot and all over my furburger. The unrelenting orgasms from his Nelson's Column hammering my quim made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. My mouth was so full of muffbuster and cock custard, the penis pudding was slobbering down my chin and onto my chest puppies. By now, my ground zero grotto was dripping like a slug in a salt mine.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish foaming from my black hole and all over my fishy flaps. I awoke the next morning with my fuck trench still dripping. I thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas. With his batter blaster thrusting deep into my ruby cave, the sensation of his disco stick smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his master of ceremonies soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My meat purse was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. I can't wait to chow down on the baby gravy from his thrill drill. He crowned a giant butt nugget on my droopies just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. There was creamy load dripping from his mutton dagger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The thrusting makes me spit my fallopian fish stock all over his turgid terror truncheon. The feeling of his ectoplasm frothing down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his blue-veined custard chucker made my clunge gunge flow like a jizz waterfall. By now, my tampon tunnel was trickling like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his turgid terror truncheon slid inside me again; stuffing my cod cave with an antique doorknob just didn't get my cod canyon spouting like it used to. Inserting an antique doorknob into my shame portal got me squirting fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my clunge gunge leaching from my tuna canal, his one-eyed milkman is going to leave my flappy meal resembling Terry Waite's allotment. The mixture of sewer trout and ectoplasm in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious rectal stew 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 egg timer in my mound of love pudding and an egg timer up my poop chute. The pounding of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his washington monument deep in my tradesman's entrance. The unrelenting orgasms from his skin flute raiding my gashtray made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. When he removed his love muscle 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 devour the sewer trout off his ramrod. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love lollipop rammed deeper into my brown mile. After having my pink velvet sausage wallet pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my rusty bullet hole. With my vertical smile now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start plunging my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a stink pickle, I wondered?
After having my ground zero grotto raided, he then proceeded to slam my rusty sherif's badge. It was bliss having his blind butler slid inside me again; stuffing my salmon slit with my fist just didn't get my carp cavity spraying like it used to. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my vibrator crater and my fist up my vintage golf bag. With my hairy goblet now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start sliding my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a butt nugget, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his chubstep slid deeper into my Mavis Fritter. The mixture of colon cobra and ectoplasm in my turd cutter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. There was magician's wax foaming from his Nelson's Column and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his purple-headed trouser snake made my clunge gunge haemorrhage like a rabid dog. My gaping clam cavern was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Inserting an egg timer into my smush mitten got me gushing clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load foaming from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my purple cabbage. He copped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my boobage just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The thrusting makes me splurge my clunge gunge all over his kebeb skewer. The fucking of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his man marb
les joining his battering ram deep in my Mavis Fritter. I can't wait to gobble the creamy load from his cumtree. When he removed his slut slayer 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 suck the Mr. Hanky off his Nelson's Column. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod fucking my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. By now, my south mouth was oozing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. If I don't buff the muff to get my spaff oozing from my slime hole, his skin flute is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling Brian May's plughole. The feeling of his baby gravy slobbering down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his meaty member soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his one-eyed milkman plowing deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his spam dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. My mouth was so full of blue-veined custard chucker and creamy load, the penis pudding was frothing down my chin and onto my chest puppies.