by Amy Woods
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ramrod plunged deeper into my balloon knot. He cut a giant colon cobra on my rack just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With his sperminator raiding deep into my quim, the sensation of his vein cane smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The pounding makes me eject my pussy batter all over his bald-headed yogurt slinger. There was cock snot dripping from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start plunging my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my smush mitten still dripping. I thought it was over but his cream reaper had other ideas. After having my calamari cockring slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my soft tight anus. My cake hole was so full of huge penis and gentleman's relish, the steamin' semen was seeping down my chin and onto my rack. The feeling of his Da Vinci load slobbering down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The plowing of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his brie baton deep in my balloon knot. I can't wait to devour the magician's wax from his kebeb skewer. The mixture of toilet twinkie and baby gravy in my other vagina created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his cumtree made my pussy batter weep like a broken coffee maker. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish frothing from my puckered brown eye and all over my clap flaps. 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 cod crater and a gerbil up my puckered brown eye. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! If I don't flick the bean to get my pussy batter oozing from my oyster ditch, his throbbing quim dagger is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling the south end of a badger going north. By now, my municipal cockwash was oozing like a George Foreman grill. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his one-eyed milkman soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile plowing my front bum made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. Inserting a gerbil into my Quimcy, M.E. got me flooding clunge gunge faster than snot off a whip. My pink velvet sausage wallet was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. When he removed his one-eyed milkman from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the Mr. Hanky off his vein cane.
After having my calamari cockring pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my old dirt road. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his tallywacker pounding my clunge pool made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bald-headed yogurt slinger shoved deeper into my turd cutter. When he removed his chorizo howitzer from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the Mr. Hanky off his cheese-crusted cock. My vaginal bacon buffet was trembling like a rat on acid. The feeling of his baby gravy haemorrhaging down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole still leaching. I thought it was over but his Nelson's Column had other ideas. My cake hole was so full of thrill drill and ectoplasm, the gentleman's relish was trickling down my chin and onto my twin peaks. The plowing makes me flow my fallopian fish stock all over his huge penis. By now, my chlamydia canal was flowing like a slavering dog. It was bliss having his wensleydale wand stuffed inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my split peach flowing like it used to. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my clam-flavoured pothole and a squash up my balloon knot. There was Da Vinci load weeping from his stilton sword and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The raiding of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his skeleton king deep in my puckered brown eye. With his chorizo howitzer thrusting deep into my fuck trench, the sensation of his spam dagger smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his blind butler made my spaff drip like a broken fridge freezer. He blasted a giant Mr. Hanky on my breasticles just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Inserting a lightbulb into my shamevelope got me ejecting flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and man fat in my balloon knot created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot dribbling from my ring piece and all over my vertical garden. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! I can't wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his gristle missile. With my beef curtains now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start shoving my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered?
I can't wait to consume the gentleman's relish from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my clunge pool and a 9-iron up my soft tight anus. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my tampon tunnel got me spritzing minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit. With his love lollipop fucking deep into my fuck gutter, the sensation of his skin flute smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The fucking makes me eject my fallopian fish stock all over his jebend. There was man fat foaming from his long-dong silver and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his bugger king shoved inside me again; stuffing my salmon slit with a gerbil just didn't get my kipper dinghy splurging like it used to. My pink velvet sausage wallet was trembling like a rat on acid. By now, my tuna canal was flowing like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. If I don't flick the bean to get my pussy batter oozing from my penis pothole, his tallywacker is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a sand blasted tomato. He extruded a giant butt nugget on my top bollocks just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With my flappy meal now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? When he removed his ramrod from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the butt nugget off his veiny quim prod. The unrelenting orgasms from his blue-veined custard chucker fucking my slime hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and ectoplasm in my marmite motorway created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The hammering of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his batter blaster deep in my rusty bullet hole. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt stretcher plunged deeper into my brown eye. My throat was so full of ramrod and love piss, the love mayonnaise was leaking down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. I awoke the next morning with my ground zero grotto still weeping. I thought it was over but his tenderloin truncheon had other ideas. Now,
I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his thrill drill made my tuna tunnel tears drip like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm haemorrhaging from my turd cutter and all over my purple cabbage. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! After having my carp cavity slammed, he then proceeded to slam my chocolate starfish. The feeling of his creamy load dribbling down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than snot off a whip.
I awoke the next morning with my one slice toaster still dribbling. I thought it was over but his gristle missile had other ideas. By now, my tampon tunnel was leaking like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. With his love muscle plowing deep into my chamber of squelch, the sensation of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. My cod canyon was trembling like jelly. When he removed his mutton dagger from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the stink pickle off his gristle missile. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! The pounding of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his veiny quim prod deep in my vintage golf bag. It was bliss having his pink tractor beam plunged inside me again; stuffing my kipper dinghy with a lightbulb just didn't get my hot pocket ejecting like it used to. He arced a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my top bollocks just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The feeling of his man fat haemorrhaging down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load dribbling from my tradesman's entrance and all over my velcro triangle. The unrelenting orgasms from his kebeb skewer plowing my oyster ditch made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. After having my penis pothole plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my turd cutter. The hammering makes me spray my sex wee all over his blue-veined custard chucker. I can't wait to chow down on the cock snot from his cervix cigar. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bald avenger stuffed deeper into my marmite motorway. With my vertical garden now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start plunging my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a sewer trout, I wondered? The mixture of colon cobra and magician's wax in my chocolate starfish created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my fallopian fish stock haemorrhaging from my birth cannon, his stilton spear is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my municipal cockwash and my fist up my rusty sherif's badge. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his huge penis made my spaff drain like a broken coffee maker. My throat was so full of piss pipe and love mayonnaise, the magician's wax was leaching down my chin and onto my rack. Inserting a number of chillies into my south mouth got me squirting minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit. There was steamin' semen weeping from his muffbuster and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more.
I awoke the next morning with my frilling pink golf bag still leaking. I thought it was over but his tenderloin truncheon had other ideas. If I don't buff the muff to get my beige slime foaming from my Quimcy, M.E., his blind butler is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. My gaping clam cavern was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Inserting a number of chillies into my ruby cave got me spouting flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! The mixture of sewer trout and love piss in my soft tight anus created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With my flappy meal now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start shoving my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? By now, my kipper dinghy was leaching like a leaky tap. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton sword probed deeper into my Oxo orifice. The unrelenting orgasms from his mutton dagger plowing my cod crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. After having my wizards sleeve pounded, he then proceeded to pound my rusty sherif's badge. It was bliss having his Ocean's 11 Inches plunged inside me again; stuffing my shamevelope with a number of chillies just didn't get my wunder down under spouting like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his jebend soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his cock snot sliming down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. There was steamin' semen draining from his stilton spear and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. He dropped a giant butt nugget on my love bubbles just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't wait to consume the Da Vinci load from his brie baton. My throat was so full of ramrod and ectoplasm, the baby gravy was leaking down my chin and onto my boobage. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen haemorrhaging from my brown eye and all over my lunchmeat. When he removed his skin flute from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the footlong fudge bullet off his battering ram. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his cunt stretcher made my fallopian fish stock slime like a leaky tap. 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 smush mitten and a gerbil up my other vagina. With his washington monument fucking deep into my vibrator crater, the sensation of his washington monument smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The slamming makes me spit my sex wee all over his vein cane.
The slamming makes me gush my pussy batter all over his chubstep. There was gentleman's relish draining from his gristle missile and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his stilton spear soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He dropped a giant colon cobra on my mosquito bites just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With his bald-headed yogurt slinger hammering deep into my municipal cockwash, the sensation of his slut slayer smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. My oyster ditch was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. After having my gaping clam cavern raided, he then proceeded to pound my old dirt road. The unrelenting orgasms from his skin flute plowing my gaping clam cavern made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. By now, my ground zero grotto was slobbering like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load dribbling from my fart valve and all over my spam castanets. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and creamy load in my cocoa channel created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. The feeling of his cock custard foaming down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my fuck gutter still weeping. I thought it was over but his turgid terror truncheon had other ideas. Inserting an antique doorknob into my hot pocket got me spritzing minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. I can't wait to devour the creamy load from his purple beaver
buster. The plowing of my puckered brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his chorizo howitzer deep in my puckered brown eye. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my salmon slit and a number of chillies up my mud flap. With my vertical garden now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start plunging my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his long-dong silver made my beige slime seep like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. It was bliss having his skeleton king rammed inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with a barbie doll just didn't get my wunder down under spraying like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his mutton dagger probed deeper into my shit winker. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! My cake hole was so full of love muscle and creamy load, the ectoplasm was trickling down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my pussy batter foaming from my gashtray, his love lollipop is going to leave my spam castanets resembling a ripped out fireplace.