by Amy Woods
It was bliss having his purple beaver buster probed inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam cavern with a lightbulb just didn't get my ladytown pouring like it used to. The fucking of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his jebend deep in my other vagina. After having my fuck gutter plowed, he then proceeded to plow my poop chute. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his slut slayer made my shrimp sap seep like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his ramrod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load oozing from my Mavis Fritter and all over my vertical garden. With his muffbuster pounding deep into my salmon slit, the sensation of his wensleydale wand smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Inserting a number of chillies into my Quimcy, M.E. got me gushing beige slime faster than snot off a whip. I can't wait to lap the love piss from his flesh gordon. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like the Japanese flag, 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 turd cutter. If I don't finger blast to get my fallopian fish stock foaming from my quim, his disco stick is going to leave my flappy meal resembling Terry Waite's allotment. The unrelenting orgasms from his kebeb skewer fucking my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. With my hairy goblet now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start stuffing my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a colon cobra, I wondered? My hatchet wound was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. By now, my oyster ditch was seeping like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. When he removed his purple-headed trouser snake from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his love muscle. The fucking makes me gush my fallopian fish stock all over his battering ram. He launched a giant sewer trout on my rack just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The mixture of sewer trout and ectoplasm in my other vagina created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my whispering eye still dripping. I thought it was over but his battering ram had other ideas. There was cock snot dripping from his stilton sword and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. My mouth was so full of master of ceremonies and Da Vinci load, the cock snot was sliming down my chin and onto my superdroopers. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my chlamydia canal and a 15" spiked vibrator up my fart valve.
The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was steamin' semen oozing from his slut slayer and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his giggle stick stuffed inside me again; stuffing my cod crater with a number of chillies just didn't get my south mouth spouting like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot dribbling from my poop chute and all over my vertical garden. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my tuna tunnel tears frothing from my smush mitten, his greasy slimelight is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a badly wrapped kebab. By now, my birth cannon was dribbling like a jizz waterfall. I can't wait to suck the gentleman's relish from his spam dagger. The thrusting of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his jade rod deep in my vintage golf bag. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my moose knuckle still trickling. I thought it was over but his balony pony had other ideas. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my cock holster and a barbie doll up my brown eye. He extruded a giant Mr. Hanky on my droopies just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With my furburger now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start probing my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt stretcher slid deeper into my turd-herder. After having my municipal cockwash pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my cocoa channel. With his love lollipop hammering deep into my oyster ditch, the sensation of his love muscle smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. Inserting an antique doorknob into my shame portal got me gushing pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his cunt plunger made my beige slime seep like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The feeling of his cock custard trickling down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My throat was so full of cream reaper and cock custard, the ectoplasm was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my tatas. My oyster ditch was trembling like a shitting dog. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and cock snot in my turd-herder created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. When he removed his bald-headed yogurt slinger from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the stink pickle off his clunger. The slamming makes me spit my clunge gunge all over his bald avenger.
After having my smush mitten fucked, he then proceeded to raid my puckered brown eye. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. By now, my ladytown was sliming like a hungry pig at a trough. He cut a giant stink pickle on my chest puppies just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With my roast beef platter now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start sliding my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a sewer trout, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my cod canyon still flowing. I thought it was over but his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had other ideas. With his slut slayer thrusting deep into my cum dumpster, the sensation of his kebeb skewer smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. The mixture of colon cobra and cock snot in my fart valve created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his disco stick shoved inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with a 9-iron just didn't get my chlamydia canal splurging like it used to. The pounding makes me pour my flange custard all over his master of ceremonies. When he removed his master of ceremonies from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the corn-eyed butt snake off his cheese-crusted cock. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm frothing from my vintage golf bag and all over my meaty hangers. The unrelenting orgasms from his chubstep pounding my tampon tunnel made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. My throat was so full of wrist-thick wand and penis pudding, the creamy load was sliming down my chin and onto my chest puppies. Inserting a 9-iron into my shame portal got me splurging pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his clunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was penis pudding frothing from his Ocean's 11 Inches 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 turgid terror truncheon shoved deeper into my cocoa channel. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my fuck
gutter and my fist up my other vagina. I can't wait to lap the Da Vinci load from his stilton sword. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his cumtree made my sex wee seep like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. If I don't strum the banjo to get my vertical moisture foaming from my pink velvet sausage wallet, his clunger is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling badly battered road kill. The feeling of his ectoplasm dribbling down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The hammering of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his skin flute deep in my black hole.
The feeling of his steamin' semen weeping down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my shamevelope and a 15" spiked vibrator up my marmite motorway. The unrelenting orgasms from his clunger fucking my furry cup made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. The plowing makes me eject my sex wee all over his piss pipe. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and gentleman's relish in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. My cake hole was so full of greasy slimelight and magician's wax, the steamin' semen was trickling down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. By now, my moose knuckle was leaching like a broken fridge freezer. I can't wait to consume the magician's wax from his cheese-crusted cock. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his stilton spear made my flange custard froth like a hungry pig at a trough. He copped a giant stink pickle on my chest puppies just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. With his spam javelin pounding deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his mutton dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. My cod cave was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. I awoke the next morning with my gashtray still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his chorizo howitzer had other ideas. After having my cod canyon raided, he then proceeded to hammer my shit winker. There was cock custard oozing from his meaty member 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 thrill drill probed deeper into my tradesman's entrance. With my purple cabbage now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat leaking from my Mavis Fritter and all over my panty hamster. It was bliss having his Nelson's Column shoved inside me again; stuffing my moose knuckle with a barbie doll just didn't get my vibration station flowing like it used to. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my fallopian fish stock slobbering from my meat purse, his ramrod is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his cunt plunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his wrist-thick wand from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the corn-eyed butt snake off his meaty member. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my penis pothole got me squirting clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! If I don't tune the tuna to get my shrimp sap haemorrhaging from my ladytown, his brie baton is going to leave my vertical smile resembling the south end of a badger going north. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding dripping from my fart valve and all over my purple cabbage. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his throbbing quim dagger probed inside me again; stuffing my pink velvet sausage wallet with a number of chillies just didn't get my depravity cavity surging like it used to. I can't wait to gobble the cock snot from his purple-headed trouser snake. My cake hole was so full of master of ceremonies and man fat, the Da Vinci load was frothing down my chin and onto my chesticles. Inserting a number of chillies into my Quimcy, M.E. got me spattering shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his love lollipop plowing deep into my herring hole, the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. After having my cum dumpster hammered, he then proceeded to raid my black hole. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skeleton king shoved deeper into my shit winker. There was man fat foaming from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The feeling of his love piss oozing down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my salmon slit and a barbie doll up my shit winker. My tampon tunnel was trembling like a rat on acid. The mixture of sewer trout and baby gravy in my vintage golf bag created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his disco stick made my sex wee drip like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. When he removed his piss pipe from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his womb ferret. The hammering of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his disco stick deep in my rusty sherif's badge. The fucking makes me squirt my minge mucus all over his ample cock. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his battering ram soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed milkman slamming my clam-flavoured pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. By now, my vibrator crater was oozing like a slug in a salt mine. He launched a giant hardened fudge nugget on my superdroopers just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. With my velcro triangle now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start stuffing my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered?
Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! The mixture of stink pickle and magician's wax in my fudge factory created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish frothing from my old dirt road and all over my piss flaps. The feeling of his creamy load haemorrhaging down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My cake hole was so full of piss pipe and man fat, the love mayonnaise was leaching down my chin and onto my top bollocks. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my frilling pink golf bag got me spraying tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his slut slayer hammering my moose knuckle made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. After having my gashtray raided, he then proceeded to raid my other vagina. I can't wait to gobble the gentleman's relish from his one-eyed monster. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. There was penis pudding dribbling from his bugger king and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his gristle missile soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The thrusting of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his throbbing quim dagger deep in my soft tight anus. My shamevelope was trembling like a rat on acid. When he removed his meaty member from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see
a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the sewer trout off his purple beaver buster. It was bliss having his greasy slimelight probed inside me again; stuffing my cod cave with an antique doorknob just didn't get my smush mitten flooding like it used to. 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 gammon alley and an egg timer up my old dirt road. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his batter blaster made my clunge gunge foam like a jizz waterfall. The slamming makes me spit my pussy batter all over his wensleydale wand. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his timed slimer rammed deeper into my marmite motorway. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my flange custard seeping from my fuck gutter, his wrist-thick wand is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a stamped bat. With his one-eyed milkman plowing deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his bugger king smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. He pinched off a giant Mr. Hanky on my chesticles just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. By now, my wunder down under was oozing like a leaky tap. With my clap flaps now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start sliding my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered?