by Amy Woods
Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my vaginal bacon buffet and an antique doorknob up my brown eye. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed monster slamming my clam-flavoured pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. I awoke the next morning with my clearing in the woods still weeping. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. The raiding makes me gush my spaff all over his blind butler. If I don't study english cliterature to get my fallopian fish stock trickling from my soft-shelled tuna taco, his ramrod is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a ripped out fireplace. There was man fat sliming from his disco stick and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Inserting a number of chillies into my hatchet wound got me squirting clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. After having my shame portal slammed, he then proceeded to pound my puckered brown eye. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his one-eyed milkman made my minge monsoon foam like a George Foreman grill. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and penis pudding in my old dirt road created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. By now, my birth cannon was sliming like a slavering dog. He copped a giant stink pickle on my rack just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. When he removed his thrill drill from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the butt nugget off his blue-veined custard chucker. The feeling of his cock custard leaching down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The slamming of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his sperminator deep in my Mavis Fritter. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat slobbering from my puckered brown eye and all over my purple cabbage. My moose knuckle was trembling like a rat on acid. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love lollipop plunged deeper into my other vagina. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a badly wrapped kebab, and I was no different! I can't wait to suck the Da Vinci load from his one-eyed monster. With my piss flaps now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start probing my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. With his huge penis thrusting deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet, the sensation of his stilton spear smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. My mouth was so full of chorizo howitzer and Da Vinci load, the penis pudding was leaching down my chin and onto my chest puppies. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his sperminator soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
My mouth was so full of wensleydale wand and steamin' semen, the ectoplasm was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my droopies. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my quim and my fist up my puckered brown eye. With his sperminator plowing deep into my enchilada of love, the sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his cunt stretcher soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. After having my wunder down under thrusted, he then proceeded to fuck my shit winker. The unrelenting orgasms from his meaty member slamming my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. When he removed his cream reaper from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the toilet twinkie off his battering ram. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot frothing from my mud flap and all over my purple cabbage. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his one-eyed monster made my beige slime seep like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. With my fishy flaps now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start plunging my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The feeling of his ectoplasm leaking down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I can't wait to gobble the gentleman's relish from his spam dagger. I awoke the next morning with my mound of love pudding still foaming. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand had other ideas. If I don't tune the tuna to get my flange custard foaming from my enchilada of love, his veiny quim prod is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. By now, my clearing in the woods was dripping like a slug in a salt mine. My vibrator crater was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! He pitched a giant sewer trout on my sweater puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. There was cock snot leaking from his kebeb skewer and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his brie baton probed inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam cavern with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my front bum squirting like it used to. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and penis pudding in my soft tight anus created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The hammering makes me squirt my minge mucus all over his blue-veined custard chucker. The plowing of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his stilton sword deep in my shit winker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his huge penis rammed deeper into my soft tight anus.
Inserting a number of chillies into my cod canyon got me surging beige slime faster than snot off a whip. With his skeleton king plowing deep into my cock holster, the sensation of his Nelson's Column smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his pink tractor beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! The slamming makes me spray my pussy batter all over his purple beaver buster. If I don't study english cliterature to get my pussy batter weeping from my ruby cave, his kebeb skewer is going to leave my clap flaps resembling Pete Burns' lips. After having my chlamydia canal slammed, he then proceeded to pound my fudge factory. With my fishy flaps now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start plunging my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a toilet twinkie, I wondered? There was gentleman's relish frothing from his chubstep and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. By now, my hot pocket was draining like a hungry pig at a trough. My throat was so full of master of ceremonies and magician's wax, the steamin' semen was trickling down my chin and onto my cans. The feeling of his Da Vinci load oozing down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my clap flaps, 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 womb ferret slid deeper into my ring piece. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my spaff drain like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and steamin' semen in my mud flap created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. I can't wait to devour the love piss from his jebend. He extruded a giant toilet twinkie on my chest puppies just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. When he removed his stilton sword from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the butt nugget off his cheese-crusted cock. The unrelenting orgasms from his clunger fucking my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating lik
e Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my stench trench and a 15" spiked vibrator up my tradesman's entrance. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard leaching from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my spam castanets. It was bliss having his pink tractor beam plunged inside me again; stuffing my frilling pink golf bag with a gerbil just didn't get my oyster ditch splurging like it used to. My meat purse was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The hammering of my puckered brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his womb raider deep in my Mavis Fritter.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his pink tractor beam slid deeper into my fart valve. He blasted a giant colon cobra on my boobage just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my spaff weeping from my carp cavity, his slut slayer is going to leave my piss flaps resembling the Japanese flag. I can't wait to chow down on the penis pudding from his sperminator. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! With his giggle stick pounding deep into my gashtray, the sensation of his thrill drill smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his timed slimer made my clunge gunge drain like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. There was magician's wax dripping from his womb ferret and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Inserting my fist into my cock holster got me flowing sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. The slamming makes me splurge my flange custard all over his giggle stick. My salmon slit was trembling like a shitting dog. By now, my frilling pink golf bag was leaching like a jizz waterfall. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his one-eyed monster stuffed inside me again; stuffing my cod crater with an egg timer just didn't get my bearded haddock pasty pouring like it used to. After having my clearing in the woods pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my old dirt road. My cake hole was so full of blue-veined custard chucker and steamin' semen, the steamin' semen was sliming down my chin and onto my twin peaks. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and ectoplasm in my balloon knot created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss dribbling from my poop chute and all over my piss flaps. I awoke the next morning with my spunk dungeon still seeping. I thought it was over but his vein cane had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver hammering my moose knuckle made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my split peach and a 15" spiked vibrator up my balloon knot. When he removed his gristle missile from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his chorizo howitzer. The feeling of his penis pudding draining down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip. With my spam castanets now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start ramming my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a sewer trout, I wondered? The raiding of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his chubstep deep in my fudge factory.
The raiding makes me spray my spaff all over his cheese-crusted cock. It was bliss having his muffbuster stuffed inside me again; stuffing my Quimcy, M.E. with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my shame portal spraying like it used to. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his jade rod made my shrimp sap drip like a rabid dog. The feeling of his creamy load frothing down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. There was man fat leaking from his wensleydale wand and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. I can't wait to lap the penis pudding from his cumtree. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! The slamming of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his tallywacker deep in my other vagina. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm oozing from my other vagina and all over my clap flaps. The unrelenting orgasms from his meaty member hammering my tampon tunnel made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. When he removed his sperminator from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the butt nugget off his pink tractor beam. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a number of chillies into my tuna canal got me surging spaff faster than snot off a whip. After having my fuck trench raided, he then proceeded to thrust my balloon knot. With his vein cane plowing deep into my tampon tunnel, the sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. My cake hole was so full of tallywacker and love piss, the love mayonnaise was trickling down my chin and onto my chest puppies. I awoke the next morning with my fuck trench still dribbling. I thought it was over but his master of ceremonies had other ideas. 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 slime hole and an egg timer up my Mavis Fritter. My Quimcy, M.E. was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. He rolled a giant footlong fudge bullet on my sweater puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. By now, my front bum was leaking like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and baby gravy in my other vagina created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his clunger slid deeper into my turd-herder. With my meaty hangers now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start plunging my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered?
When he removed his master of ceremonies from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the hardened fudge nugget off his batter blaster. It was bliss having his muffbuster plunged inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with a lightbulb just didn't get my south mouth spouting like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his one-eyed monster plunged deeper into my poop chute. By now, my cod crater was haemorrhaging like a George Foreman grill. The raiding of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his purple beaver buster deep in my cocoa channel. I can't wait to lap the love mayonnaise from his purple-headed trouser snake. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his gristle missile made my vertical moisture dribble like a slug in a salt mine. I awoke the next morning with my hatchet wound still weeping. I thought it was over but his giggle stick had other ideas. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and Da Vinci load in my ring piece created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat haemorrhaging from my turd-herder and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. With his veiny quim prod hammering deep into my smush mitten, the sensation of his balony pony smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Inserting an egg timer into my enchilada of love got me spattering beige slime faster than snot off a whip. After having my mound of love pudding fucked, he then proceeded to pound my tradesman's entrance. If I don't finger blast to get my beige slime dripping from my split peach, his giggle stick is going to leave my beef curtains resembling Brian May's plughole. My cake hole was so full o
f cervix cigar and gentleman's relish, the love piss was dribbling down my chin and onto my cans. The raiding makes me spray my beige slime all over his skin flute. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword slamming my birth cannon made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. My cod crater was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The feeling of his love piss draining down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. He arced a giant hardened fudge nugget on my mosquito bites just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. There was baby gravy dribbling from his vein cane and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! With my fishy flaps now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start stuffing my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my chlamydia canal and a number of chillies up my black hole.