by Amy Woods
Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my tampon tunnel and an antique doorknob up my balloon knot. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his mutton dagger made my clunge gunge weep like a slug in a salt mine. The plowing makes me flood my flange custard all over his battering ram. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my one slice toaster got me surging spaff faster than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his wensleydale wand rammed deeper into my chocolate starfish. With my furburger now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start shoving my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? If I don't play the clitar to get my tuna tunnel tears slobbering from my vaginal bacon buffet, his batter blaster is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a rabid baboon's arse. With his timed slimer plowing deep into my vibrator crater, the sensation of his long-dong silver smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. My throat was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and love mayonnaise, the baby gravy was frothing down my chin and onto my chesticles. My quim was trembling like jelly. It was bliss having his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus shoved inside me again; stuffing my front bum with a 9-iron just didn't get my smush mitten spattering like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my sperm socket still foaming. I thought it was over but his battering ram had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish trickling from my fudge factory and all over my spam castanets. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. I can't wait to suck the gentleman's relish from his kebeb skewer. The unrelenting orgasms from his wensleydale wand thrusting my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! When he removed his clunger from my balloon knot, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his vein cane. The mixture of toilet twinkie and creamy load in my mud flap created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. There was love piss sliming from his Ocean's 11 Inches and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. After having my wizards sleeve pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my fart valve. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his skin flute soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He curled a giant butt nugget on my mammaries just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The pounding of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his muffbuster deep in my ring piece. By now, my cum dumpster was haemorrhaging like a rabid dog.
When he removed his throbbing quim dagger from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the toilet twinkie off his womb raider. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. He extruded a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my rack just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. There was cock snot oozing from his bald avenger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I can't wait to consume the magician's wax from his greasy kebab skewer. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my tuna tunnel tears sliming from my front bum, his sperminator is going to leave my flappy meal resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. My gaping clam cavern was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The feeling of his gentleman's relish trickling down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his wrist-thick wand probed deeper into my rusty bullet hole. It was bliss having his love muscle plunged inside me again; stuffing my sperm socket with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my bearded haddock pasty squirting like it used to. After having my gaping clam cavern fucked, he then proceeded to slam my turd-herder. By now, my gashtray was leaking like a George Foreman grill. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his batter blaster made my sex wee ooze like a hungry pig at a trough. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his clunger fucking my Quimcy, M.E. made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock snot in my marmite motorway created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Inserting a 9-iron into my bearded haddock pasty got me surging fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. With my furburger now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start stuffing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? My mouth was so full of meaty member and magician's wax, the steamin' semen was flowing down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish dripping from my Oxo orifice and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. With his jebend fucking deep into my calamari cockring, the sensation of his veiny quim prod smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his mutton dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The slamming of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his meaty member deep in my other vagina. The slamming makes me surge my minge monsoon all over his one-eyed milkman. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my fuck gutter and a barbie doll up my Oxo orifice.
Inserting an egg timer into my whispering eye got me flowing sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. With my lunchmeat now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start shoving my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a sewer trout, I wondered? The feeling of his magician's wax draining down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He eased out a giant stink pickle on my fiery biscuits just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. My pink velvet sausage wallet was trembling like a shitting dog. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! If I don't strum the banjo to get my spaff weeping from my cock holster, his bald avenger is going to leave my piss flaps resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his throbbing quim dagger rammed deeper into my turd cutter. It was bliss having his womb raider plunged inside me again; stuffing my bearded haddock pasty with a squash just didn't get my depravity cavity spattering like it used to. The thrusting makes me pour my tuna tunnel tears all over his kebeb skewer. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. The mixture of stink pickle and cock custard in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. When he removed his cream reaper from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the colon cobra off his cunt plunger. The slamming of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his bald avenger deep in my rusty bullet hole. I awoke the next morning with my kipper dinghy still trickling. I thought it was over but his Ocean's 11 Inches had other ideas. My mouth was so full of clunger and ectoplasm, the baby gravy was foaming down my chin and onto my cans. There was creamy load weeping from his stilton sword and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his ramrod raiding deep into my carp cavity, the sensation of his clunger smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. I can't wait to lap the gentleman's relish from his flesh gordon. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat leaching from my soft ti
ght anus and all over my piss flaps. After having my fuck gutter pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my puckered brown eye. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his sperminator made my shrimp sap seep like a George Foreman grill. By now, my pink velvet sausage wallet was dribbling like a slug in a salt mine. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my depravity cavity and a 9-iron up my other vagina.
My mouth was so full of skeleton king and man fat, the magician's wax was seeping down my chin and onto my twin peaks. The unrelenting orgasms from his throbbing quim dagger fucking my birth cannon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. I can't wait to lap the cock snot from his blind butler. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his all-beef thermometer stuffed deeper into my Oxo orifice. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss slobbering from my brown mile and all over my vertical garden. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my fuck trench and an antique doorknob up my poop chute. With his ramrod raiding deep into my gaping clam cavern, the sensation of his slut slayer smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. The mixture of colon cobra and creamy load in my fudge factory created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher probed inside me again; stuffing my split peach with an antique doorknob just didn't get my moose knuckle ejecting like it used to. My tampon tunnel was trembling like a shitting dog. After having my fuck gutter plowed, he then proceeded to plow my rusty bullet hole. I awoke the next morning with my clam-flavoured pothole still dripping. I thought it was over but his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus had other ideas. The hammering of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his cunt stretcher deep in my ring piece. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! When he removed his piss pipe 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 gobble the stink pickle off his blue-veined custard chucker. There was ectoplasm dribbling from his sperminator and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The raiding makes me eject my clunge gunge all over his slut slayer. If I don't tune the tuna to get my sex wee foaming from my fuck trench, his pink tractor beam is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. With my fishy flaps now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start sliding my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his chorizo howitzer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He arced a giant sewer trout on my twin peaks 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 master of ceremonies made my vertical moisture froth like a slug in a salt mine. By now, my fuck trench was frothing like a slug in a salt mine. Inserting an antique doorknob into my stench trench got me spritzing sex wee faster than snot off a whip.
Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his thrill drill made my shrimp sap slime like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his turgid terror truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He crowned a giant butt nugget on my breasticles just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. There was baby gravy dribbling from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my slime hole and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my rusty bullet hole. I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring still dribbling. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. When he removed his pink tractor beam from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the butt nugget off his mutton dagger. The slamming makes me eject my tuna tunnel tears all over his batter blaster. If I don't fluff the muff to get my pussy batter flowing from my oyster ditch, his greasy kebab skewer is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a sand blasted tomato. By now, my fuck trench was trickling like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The raiding of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my brown mile. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. My mouth was so full of vein cane and penis pudding, the magician's wax was dribbling down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. After having my smush mitten hammered, he then proceeded to plow my ring piece. With my beef curtains now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start ramming my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a butt nugget, I wondered? My vibration station was trembling like jelly. It was bliss having his battering ram rammed inside me again; stuffing my one slice toaster with a barbie doll just didn't get my stench trench flooding like it used to. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat 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 muffbuster rammed deeper into my old dirt road. With his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon plowing deep into my salmon slit, the sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The unrelenting orgasms from his balony pony slamming my furry cup made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and magician's wax in my shit winker created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. I can't wait to devour the cock snot from his devil's bagpipe. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding weeping from my black hole and all over my roast beef platter. Inserting a number of chillies into my oyster ditch got me gushing fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip.
My quim was trembling like a rat on acid. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock snot in my ring piece created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his greasy kebab skewer made my tuna tunnel tears ooze like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Inserting my fist into my clunge pool got me spattering fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his one-eyed milkman plunged deeper into my poo pipe. He dropped a giant colon cobra on my chesticles just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. My mouth was so full of blind butler and love mayonnaise, the gentleman's relish was flowing down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. It was bliss having his washington monument slid inside me again; stuffing my wunder down under with an antique doorknob just didn't get my birth cannon surging like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen leaking from my other vagina and all over my fishy flaps. By now, my herring hole was leaching like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The fucking makes me gush my clunge gunge all over his flesh gordon. The feeling of his steamin' semen sliming down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. There was creamy load weeping from his greasy kebab skewer and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. With his giggle stick plowing deep into my cock holster, the sensation of his gristle missile smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his blood-engorge
d mayonnaise cannon pounding my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. The fucking of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his wrist-thick wand deep in my poo pipe. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my split peach and an antique doorknob up my tradesman's entrance. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his cumtree soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my stench trench still weeping. I thought it was over but his spam javelin had other ideas. With my purple cabbage now much like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start probing my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? If I don't fish for pearls to get my pussy batter seeping from my kipper dinghy, his battering ram is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a stamped bat. When he removed his pink tractor beam from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his jade rod. After having my cod canyon hammered, he then proceeded to fuck my vintage golf bag.