by Amy Woods
Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax draining from my cocoa channel and all over my furburger. When he removed his tenderloin truncheon from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his greasy slimelight. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his veiny quim prod rammed deeper into my cocoa channel. The pounding of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his clunger deep in my other vagina. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my fallopian fish stock leaching from my whispering eye, his cream reaper is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a gutted trout. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! 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 ample cock hammering my fuck trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. With his slut slayer slamming deep into my gashtray, the sensation of his Nelson's Column smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. With my spam castanets now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start probing my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a butt nugget, I wondered? I can't wait to devour the Da Vinci load from his ample cock. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my ruby cave and my fist up my mud flap. The hammering makes me pour my minge mucus all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. My throat was so full of long-dong silver and magician's wax, the ectoplasm was slobbering down my chin and onto my mammaries. I awoke the next morning with my gaping clam cavern still oozing. I thought it was over but his love muscle had other ideas. There was gentleman's relish dripping from his blind butler and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Inserting a barbie doll into my vibration station got me spritzing shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. He crowned a giant toilet twinkie on my superdroopers just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. It was bliss having his blind butler slid inside me again; stuffing my bearded haddock pasty with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my sperm socket splurging like it used to. The mixture of colon cobra and love mayonnaise in my turd cutter 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 muffbuster made my minge monsoon weep like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. By now, my hatchet wound was frothing like a rabid dog. 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 steamin' semen oozing down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My hot pocket was trembling like a shitting dog.
The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his cheese-crusted cock soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't strum the banjo to get my pussy batter dribbling from my fuck trench, his love muscle is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. I awoke the next morning with my cock holster still flowing. I thought it was over but his sperminator had other ideas. The raiding of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his giggle stick deep in my vintage golf bag. It was bliss having his turgid terror truncheon shoved inside me again; stuffing my shame portal with a lightbulb just didn't get my carp cavity pouring like it used to. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! My cake hole was so full of master of ceremonies and ectoplasm, the Da Vinci load was flowing down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. The feeling of his cock custard dribbling down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With my panty hamster now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start sliding my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? With his tallywacker hammering deep into my carp cavity, the sensation of his pink tractor beam smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Inserting a squash into my wunder down under got me spouting pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. By now, my fuck gutter was flowing like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard dribbling from my brown mile and all over my hairy goblet. My gaping clam cavern was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and creamy load in my brown mile created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He curled a giant colon cobra on my droopies just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his vein cane made my flange custard foam like a George Foreman grill. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. After having my ladytown fucked, he then proceeded to slam my soft tight anus. The unrelenting orgasms from his womb raider thrusting my gashtray made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. I can't wait to devour the love mayonnaise from his purple beaver buster. The pounding makes me surge my fallopian fish stock all over his pink tractor beam. There was cock custard oozing from his bald avenger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skeleton king plunged deeper into my other vagina. When he removed his womb ferret from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the Mr. Hanky off his greasy slimelight.
He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The feeling of his love piss foaming down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his ample cock soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my one slice toaster pounded, he then proceeded to plow my other vagina. When he removed his piss pipe 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 lap the Mr. Hanky off his Ocean's 11 Inches. With my roast beef platter now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start ramming my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his cheese-crusted cock plowing my enchilada of love made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! With his piss pipe fucking deep into my calamari cockring, the sensation of his tenderloin truncheon smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The fucking makes me pour my shrimp sap all over his long-dong silver. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his wensleydale wand made my pussy batter drip like a jizz waterfall. By now, my one slice toaster was weeping like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and Da Vinci load in my turd-herder created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his muffbuster rammed inside me again; stuffing my wizards sleeve with a lightbulb just didn't get my penis pothole ejecting like it used to. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my fuck gutter and a barbie doll up my shit winker. I awoke the next morning with my whispering eye still trickling. I thought it was over but his bald avenger had other ideas. I can't wait to suck the gentleman's relish from his cumtree. There was cock snot flowing from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. If I don't fish for pearls to get my sex wee seeping from my chamber of sque
lch, his tallywacker is going to leave my vertical garden resembling that bathroom door in The Shining. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spunk-filled spam rocket probed deeper into my chocolate starfish. My clearing in the woods was trembling like a rat on acid. Inserting an egg timer into my pink velvet sausage wallet got me squirting shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. The pounding of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his slut slayer deep in my turd cutter. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load frothing from my chocolate starfish and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. My throat was so full of battering ram and gentleman's relish, the penis pudding was seeping down my chin and onto my twin peaks.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish foaming from my brown eye and all over my clap flaps. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bald-headed yogurt slinger probed deeper into my poop chute. The unrelenting orgasms from his turgid terror truncheon pounding my split peach made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his skeleton king soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! It was bliss having his all-beef thermometer probed inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with an egg timer just didn't get my sperm socket ejecting like it used to. With my hairy goblet now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start probing my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a stink pickle, I wondered? If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my fallopian fish stock slobbering from my stench trench, his purple beaver buster is going to leave my furburger resembling a horse's collar. I awoke the next morning with my soft-shelled tuna taco still frothing. I thought it was over but his womb raider had other ideas. I can't wait to gobble the magician's wax from his cream reaper. He pitched a giant hardened fudge nugget on my droopies just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My mouth was so full of one-eyed monster and creamy load, the gentleman's relish was leaching down my chin and onto my tatas. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his spunk-filled spam rocket made my sex wee seep like a broken coffee maker. The pounding makes me flood my beige slime all over his brie baton. The mixture of stink pickle and man fat in my old dirt road created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The thrusting of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his huge penis deep in my Oxo orifice. When he removed his gristle missile from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the corn-eyed butt snake off his love lollipop. By now, my vibrator crater was foaming like a broken fridge freezer. My split peach was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. There was cock snot dribbling from his sperminator and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. With his chubstep fucking deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his chorizo howitzer smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my penis pothole got me flowing minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit. After having my one slice toaster hammered, he then proceeded to fuck my rusty sherif's badge. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my cod crater and a barbie doll up my old dirt road.
The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and cock snot in my fart valve created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The slamming makes me pour my clunge gunge all over his washington monument. My mouth was so full of eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and creamy load, the ectoplasm was dribbling down my chin and onto my love bubbles. The slamming of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his jebend deep in my rusty bullet hole. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! My vaginal bacon buffet was trembling like jelly. When he removed his flesh gordon from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the butt nugget off his bugger king. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my sex wee trickling from my herring hole, his womb ferret is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. It was bliss having his washington monument probed inside me again; stuffing my furry cup with a lightbulb just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet flowing like it used to. Inserting my fist into my gammon alley got me spraying tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his battering ram hammering deep into my stench trench, the sensation of his kebeb skewer smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his balony pony made my fallopian fish stock seep like a hungry pig at a trough. The feeling of his baby gravy flowing down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than snot off a whip. There was ectoplasm frothing from his muffbuster and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his Nelson's Column plowing my tampon tunnel made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. With my roast beef platter now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start stuffing my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? By now, my mound of love pudding was oozing like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat flowing from my puckered brown eye and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. He blasted a giant colon cobra on my chest puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I awoke the next morning with my cod cave still dribbling. I thought it was over but his jade rod had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his timed slimer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my ladytown hammered, he then proceeded to fuck my turd cutter. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cheese-crusted cock shoved deeper into my Oxo orifice. 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 my fist up my brown mile.
By now, my fuck trench was weeping like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. He launched a giant toilet twinkie on my mosquito bites just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple beaver buster plowing my front bum made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. When he removed his vein cane from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the Mr. Hanky off his devil's bagpipe. The thrusting of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his ramrod deep in my fudge factory. After having my oyster ditch fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my rusty bullet hole. I can't wait to suck the magician's wax from his spam javelin. My municipal cockwash was trembling like jelly. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skin flute probed deeper into my poop chute. My mouth was so full of wrist-thick wand and cock custard, the cock custard was dripping down my chin and onto my breasticles. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my furry cup got me spattering vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his devil's bagpipe made my vertical moisture froth like a slavering dog. If I don't play the clitar to get my minge monsoon weeping from my one slice toaster, his tenderloin truncheon is going to leave my p
urple cabbage resembling a gutted trout. I awoke the next morning with my shame portal still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his stilton sword had other ideas. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. There was gentleman's relish slobbering from his devil's bagpipe and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. With my clap flaps now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start plunging my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a stink pickle, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm flowing from my turd cutter and all over my flappy meal. The plowing makes me squirt my beige slime all over his cunt plunger. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! The feeling of his penis pudding leaching down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his flesh gordon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his cunt plunger slamming deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his love lollipop smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. It was bliss having his turgid terror truncheon plunged inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with a squash just didn't get my gashtray pouring like it used to. 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 herring hole and a lightbulb up my rusty sherif's badge.