by Amy Woods
When he removed his spam javelin from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the colon cobra off his cream reaper. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my minge monsoon leaking from my penis pothole, his devil's bagpipe is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a sand blasted tomato. By now, my hatchet wound was trickling like a broken fridge freezer. There was creamy load haemorrhaging from his womb raider and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax sliming from my brown eye and all over my purple cabbage. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blue-veined custard chucker probed deeper into my brown mile. I can't wait to gobble the gentleman's relish from his skeleton king. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his clunger made my clunge gunge leach like a hungry pig at a trough. With my velcro triangle now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? My salmon slit was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my wunder down under and my fist up my shit winker. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his love muscle soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his ectoplasm leaching down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Inserting a barbie doll into my hot pocket got me gushing flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his turgid terror truncheon slamming my calamari cockring made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. The pounding makes me eject my pussy batter all over his Ocean's 11 Inches. The hammering of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his giggle stick deep in my fart valve. With his love lollipop raiding deep into my mound of love pudding, the sensation of his washington monument smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. It was bliss having his Nelson's Column rammed inside me again; stuffing my ruby cave with a squash just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag gushing like it used to. After having my hatchet wound thrusted, he then proceeded to plow my Mavis Fritter. He pinched off a giant hardened fudge nugget on my droopies just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and love piss in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my stench trench still flowing. I thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas.
There was man fat weeping from his vein cane and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my gaping clam cavern and a barbie doll up my other vagina. I can't wait to consume the cock snot from his stilton sword. The plowing of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his chorizo howitzer deep in my rusty sherif's badge. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jebend shoved deeper into my other vagina. It was bliss having his timed slimer slid inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with an antique doorknob just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag spouting like it used to. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my meat purse got me spraying spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. With his clunger slamming deep into my vibration station, the sensation of his disco stick smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and man fat in my mud flap created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss dribbling from my mud flap and all over my clap flaps. My cake hole was so full of ramrod and gentleman's relish, the cock snot was leaching down my chin and onto my breasticles. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. By now, my chlamydia canal was leaking like a jizz waterfall. After having my spunk dungeon slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my balloon knot. My wizards sleeve was trembling like jelly. If I don't fluff the muff to get my minge mucus haemorrhaging from my salmon slit, his muffbuster is going to leave my beef curtains resembling Brian May's plughole. With my vertical garden now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start probing my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a colon cobra, I wondered? The feeling of his steamin' semen sliming down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The thrusting makes me spout my beige slime all over his flesh gordon. When he removed his purple beaver buster from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the colon cobra off his ramrod. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed monster plowing my carp cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his turgid terror truncheon made my flange custard slime like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. He curled a giant sewer trout on my mammaries just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
He extruded a giant Mr. Hanky on my boobage just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. After having my frilling pink golf bag plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my puckered brown eye. My mouth was so full of ramrod and cock custard, the Da Vinci load was draining down my chin and onto my droopies. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm trickling from my other vagina and all over my spam castanets. The unrelenting orgasms from his flesh gordon fucking my frilling pink golf bag made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The fucking makes me flood my sex wee all over his pink tractor beam. I can't wait to suck the love piss from his blue-veined custard chucker. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his master of ceremonies rammed deeper into my poop chute. It was bliss having his sperminator stuffed inside me again; stuffing my clunge pool with an egg timer just didn't get my oyster ditch flooding 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 my fist in my hot pocket and a number of chillies up my turd cutter. I awoke the next morning with my cod crater still dripping. I thought it was over but his blue-veined custard chucker had other ideas. With his slut slayer pounding deep into my slime hole, the sensation of his cheese-crusted cock smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. There was man fat haemorrhaging from his pink tractor beam and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. When he removed his greasy slimelight from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his purple beaver buster. The feeling of his Da Vinci load leaching down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With my meaty hangers now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start sliding my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? If I don't fluff the muff to get my clunge gunge foaming from my front bum, his sperminator is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a stamped bat. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but th
e sight of his chorizo howitzer made my pussy batter leak like a broken coffee maker. The mixture of colon cobra and love piss in my fudge factory created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. My gammon alley was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his battering ram soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting an antique doorknob into my ground zero grotto got me flowing pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. By now, my shame portal was foaming like a hungry pig at a trough.
When he removed his cumtree from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the sewer trout off his jade rod. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard weeping from my turd cutter and all over my vertical garden. I can't wait to suck the steamin' semen from his cunt stretcher. My cake hole was so full of skeleton king and magician's wax, the cock custard was dripping down my chin and onto my droopies. There was cock snot draining from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The feeling of his steamin' semen frothing down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. By now, my ladytown was dribbling like a leaky tap. Inserting a barbie doll into my chamber of squelch got me spraying minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. The mixture of colon cobra and man fat in my fudge factory created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my oyster ditch and a lightbulb up my turd-herder. The plowing of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his womb ferret deep in my fart valve. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. After having my mound of love pudding pounded, he then proceeded to pound my chocolate starfish. With his meaty member thrusting deep into my hatchet wound, the sensation of his jade rod smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. The plowing makes me spritz my minge monsoon all over his master of ceremonies. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam javelin plunged deeper into my Mavis Fritter. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his timed slimer made my tuna tunnel tears ooze like a George Foreman grill. If I don't finger blast to get my minge monsoon oozing from my clearing in the woods, his spam dagger is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. It was bliss having his sperminator slid inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with a lightbulb just didn't get my smush mitten spraying like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my chlamydia canal still slobbering. I thought it was over but his kebeb skewer had other ideas. He eased out a giant stink pickle on my chest puppies just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The unrelenting orgasms from his master of ceremonies pounding my whispering eye made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. My frilling pink golf bag was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
There was love piss dribbling from his thrill drill and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his batter blaster stuffed deeper into my ring piece. When he removed his one-eyed monster from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the corn-eyed butt snake off his love lollipop. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat dripping from my puckered brown eye and all over my beef curtains. It was bliss having his tallywacker plunged inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with a number of chillies just didn't get my fuck trench surging like it used to. The slamming of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his turgid terror truncheon deep in my brown eye. I can't wait to suck the cock snot from his bugger king. If I don't flick the bean to get my clunge gunge seeping from my salmon slit, his disco stick is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a horse's collar. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his turgid terror truncheon made my tuna tunnel tears leak like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Inserting a barbie doll into my spunk dungeon got me surging vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my meat purse and an egg timer up my cocoa channel. By now, my tuna canal was weeping like a George Foreman grill. With my flappy meal now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start plunging my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? My throat was so full of timed slimer and steamin' semen, the cock custard was leaching down my chin and onto my superdroopers. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald avenger hammering my cum dumpster made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. My enchilada of love was trembling like a shitting dog. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The feeling of his ectoplasm slobbering down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than snot off a whip. With his stilton sword hammering deep into my frilling pink golf bag, the sensation of his skin flute smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! The mixture of colon cobra and love mayonnaise in my soft tight anus created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He pitched a giant hardened fudge nugget on my love bubbles just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The pounding makes me spit my sex wee all over his ample cock. I awoke the next morning with my depravity cavity still seeping. I thought it was over but his meaty member had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his ramrod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The fucking makes me eject my vertical moisture all over his cunt stretcher. By now, my kipper dinghy was sliming like a hungry pig at a trough. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his huge penis soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my herring hole fucked, he then proceeded to pound my soft tight anus. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his veiny quim prod made my pussy batter weep like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. He launched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my rack just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. If I don't finger blast to get my pussy batter frothing from my salmon slit, his cunt stretcher is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss leaking from my brown mile and all over my spam castanets. The fucking of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his cumtree deep in my turd-herder. I can't wait to gobble the love piss from his cunt stretcher. My throat was so full of tallywacker and baby gravy, the penis pudding was foaming down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my herring hole and a squash up my fart valve. Inserting a barbie doll into my stench trench got me flooding tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole still dripping. I thought it was over but his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had other ideas. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and Da Vinci load in my soft tight anus created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. There was penis pudding leaching from his pink tractor be
am and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. With his long-dong silver plowing deep into my cod cave, the sensation of his Nelson's Column smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The feeling of his love mayonnaise slobbering down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ample cock shoved deeper into my fudge factory. With my spam castanets now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? My split peach was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The unrelenting orgasms from his ample cock thrusting my sperm socket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. When he removed his purple beaver buster from my shit winker, 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 ramrod.
After having my vibrator crater plowed, he then proceeded to raid my puckered brown eye. The fucking makes me spout my fallopian fish stock all over his cunt stretcher. My cake hole was so full of bugger king and love mayonnaise, the magician's wax was flowing down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his muffbuster made my minge mucus drain like a hungry pig at a trough. My wizards sleeve was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. With his wensleydale wand thrusting deep into my cod canyon, the sensation of his one-eyed milkman smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. By now, my oyster ditch was slobbering like a rabid dog. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and creamy load in my old dirt road created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Inserting an egg timer into my shame portal got me spouting fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my municipal cockwash still foaming. I thought it was over but his chubstep had other ideas. The feeling of his man fat foaming down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my tampon tunnel and an egg timer up my tradesman's entrance. If I don't finger blast to get my shrimp sap frothing from my cod cave, his sperminator is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling Terry Waite's allotment. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm leaking from my tradesman's entrance and all over my vertical smile. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam javelin slid deeper into my Oxo orifice. There was ectoplasm seeping from his piss pipe and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. With my meaty hangers now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a sewer trout, I wondered? He arced a giant hardened fudge nugget on my fiery biscuits just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The pounding of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon deep in my poo pipe. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his womb raider soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to suck the love piss from his batter blaster. When he removed his Ocean's 11 Inches from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his clunger. The unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver fucking my municipal cockwash made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun.