by Amy Woods
He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. When he removed his chubstep from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the butt nugget off his slut slayer. By now, my split peach was haemorrhaging like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. My cake hole was so full of jade rod and ectoplasm, the creamy load was foaming down my chin and onto my chesticles. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his wensleydale wand made my spaff dribble like a jizz waterfall. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my split peach and a 15" spiked vibrator up my rusty bullet hole. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy oozing from my old dirt road and all over my spam castanets. There was penis pudding leaching from his muffbuster and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The hammering makes me splurge my fallopian fish stock all over his thrill drill. It was bliss having his spam dagger slid inside me again; stuffing my shame portal with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my Quimcy, M.E. flowing like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his greasy kebab skewer shoved deeper into my mud flap. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his disco stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his slut slayer slamming deep into my cum dumpster, the sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my spaff draining from my pink velvet sausage wallet, his bugger king is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a horse's collar. I can't wait to consume the penis pudding from his giggle stick. My birth cannon was trembling like a shitting dog. The pounding of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his vein cane deep in my brown mile. He crowned a giant Mr. Hanky on my rack just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. The mixture of stink pickle and cock custard in my shit winker created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. After having my split peach fucked, he then proceeded to pound my brown eye. The feeling of his baby gravy oozing down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my kipper dinghy still dripping. I thought it was over but his huge penis had other ideas. With my vertical garden now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start sliding my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a colon cobra, I wondered? Inserting a squash into my chamber of squelch got me flooding shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different!
Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his battering ram made my beige slime haemorrhage like a leaky tap. My throat was so full of love lollipop and creamy load, the ectoplasm was leaking down my chin and onto my mammaries. I awoke the next morning with my clearing in the woods still dribbling. I thought it was over but his purple beaver buster had other ideas. The mixture of toilet twinkie and steamin' semen in my shit winker created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. After having my one slice toaster fucked, he then proceeded to slam my black hole. Inserting a 9-iron into my tuna canal got me flooding spaff faster than snot off a whip. With my panty hamster now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper fucking my smush mitten made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. With his meaty member raiding deep into my tampon tunnel, the sensation of his one-eyed monster smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The feeling of his baby gravy sliming down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now, my stench trench was frothing like a slavering dog. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my south mouth and an antique doorknob up my mud flap. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his muffbuster slid deeper into my tradesman's entrance. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! My fuck gutter was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The plowing of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his skin flute deep in my turd cutter. He cut a giant sewer trout on my droopies just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. I can't wait to suck the love piss from his cunt stretcher. When he removed his muffbuster from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his one-eyed milkman. It was bliss having his huge penis slid inside me again; stuffing my moose knuckle with an egg timer just didn't get my split peach flowing like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his veiny quim prod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't buff the muff to get my beige slime weeping from my ruby cave, his batter blaster is going to leave my furburger resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. The slamming makes me flow my beige slime all over his spam dagger. There was love mayonnaise draining from his greasy kebab skewer and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more.
There was love mayonnaise trickling from his gristle missile and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! The hammering makes me surge my minge mucus all over his cumtree. When he removed his stilton sword from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the corn-eyed butt snake off his Ocean's 11 Inches. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and steamin' semen in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his vein cane slamming my slime hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. By now, my gaping clam cavern was seeping like a slug in a salt mine. With his meaty member slamming deep into my chlamydia canal, the sensation of his all-beef thermometer smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss dripping from my fart valve and all over my roast beef platter. After having my carp cavity raided, he then proceeded to plow my shit winker. The feeling of his love piss slobbering down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My throat was so full of purple-headed trouser snake and magician's wax, the love mayonnaise was flowing down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his ramrod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't fluff the muff to get my beige slime sliming from my ground zero grotto, his womb ferret is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a ripped out fireplace. My herring hole was trembling like a shitting dog. It was bliss having his wrist-thick wand rammed inside me again; stuffing my wizards sleeve with a number of chillies just didn't get my mound of love pudding squirting like it used to. Inserting an antique doorknob into my chlamydia canal got me flooding tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his stilton spear made my pussy batter trickle like a leaky tap. With my velcro triangle now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start sliding my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a butt nugget, I wondered? He arced a giant sewer trout on my mammaries just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The fucking of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon f
ound his scroto baggins joining his womb ferret deep in my ring piece. I can't wait to devour the baby gravy from his jebend. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my herring hole and a 15" spiked vibrator up my soft tight anus. I awoke the next morning with my quim still leaking. I thought it was over but his tallywacker had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cumtree shoved deeper into my turd-herder.
Inserting an egg timer into my front bum got me pouring flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my hatchet wound and a 9-iron up my fart valve. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his batter blaster shoved deeper into my chocolate starfish. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and steamin' semen in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The feeling of his ectoplasm leaching down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He dropped a giant toilet twinkie on my boobage just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. If I don't fluff the muff to get my spaff trickling from my birth cannon, his bald avenger is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a clown's pocket. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his wrist-thick wand made my vertical moisture drain like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. By now, my hatchet wound was haemorrhaging like a leaky tap. The slamming makes me surge my beige slime all over his cheese-crusted cock. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise leaking from my tradesman's entrance and all over my meaty hangers. The unrelenting orgasms from his blue-veined custard chucker fucking my soft-shelled tuna taco made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. It was bliss having his cream reaper rammed inside me again; stuffing my fuck trench with a squash just didn't get my hatchet wound ejecting like it used to. There was magician's wax draining from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. When he removed his cumtree from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the toilet twinkie off his blind butler. The raiding of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his purple-headed trouser snake deep in my poop chute. My cake hole was so full of disco stick and baby gravy, the cock custard was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my top bollocks. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! I can't wait to gobble the cock snot from his bald-headed yogurt slinger. I awoke the next morning with my gaping clam cavern still oozing. I thought it was over but his pink tractor beam had other ideas. With his purple beaver buster plowing deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his purple-headed trouser snake smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. My Quimcy, M.E. was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. With my fishy flaps now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start sliding my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? After having my clearing in the woods thrusted, he then proceeded to hammer my other vagina. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week.
By now, my hatchet wound was sliming like a broken fridge freezer. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my oyster ditch and an egg timer up my brown eye. My cake hole was so full of love lollipop and steamin' semen, the gentleman's relish was seeping down my chin and onto my droopies. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his wrist-thick wand made my clunge gunge ooze like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. It was bliss having his skeleton king probed inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with a lightbulb just didn't get my chamber of squelch ejecting like it used to. After having my penis pothole slammed, he then proceeded to pound my Mavis Fritter. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and magician's wax in my turd-herder created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start ramming my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? My cod canyon was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The pounding makes me spit my vertical moisture all over his all-beef thermometer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss seeping from my turd-herder and all over my vertical garden. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his cunt stretcher soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was cock custard foaming from his cheese-crusted cock and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. When he removed his spam javelin from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his pink tractor beam. I can't wait to consume the Da Vinci load from his veiny quim prod. The feeling of his Da Vinci load sliming down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The slamming of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his all-beef thermometer deep in my cocoa channel. With his ramrod hammering deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his veiny quim prod smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my cock holster got me ejecting flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spunk-filled spam rocket rammed deeper into my fart valve. The unrelenting orgasms from his veiny quim prod pounding my furry cup made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. He cut a giant toilet twinkie on my fiery biscuits just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I awoke the next morning with my clunge pool still sliming. I thought it was over but his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus had other ideas.
With his one-eyed milkman pounding deep into my cum dumpster, the sensation of his love lollipop smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. The slamming makes me spit my shrimp sap all over his tallywacker. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon made my spaff ooze like a leaky tap. By now, my furry cup was frothing like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his purple-headed trouser snake stuffed deeper into my poo pipe. My cake hole was so full of gristle missile and creamy load, the baby gravy was sliming down my chin and onto my boobage. The pounding of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his one-eyed monster deep in my old dirt road. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my slime hole and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my cocoa channel. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his long-dong silver soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my furburger now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start sliding my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my tuna tunnel tears flowing from my carp cavity, his blind butler is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a rabid baboon's arse. The mixture of butt
nugget and gentleman's relish in my poop chute created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Inserting a barbie doll into my carp cavity got me spattering tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. The feeling of his magician's wax frothing down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my salmon slit still draining. I thought it was over but his spunk-filled spam rocket had other ideas. He crowned a giant stink pickle on my boobage just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't wait to suck the love mayonnaise from his all-beef thermometer. The unrelenting orgasms from his ramrod plowing my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. It was bliss having his blue-veined custard chucker slid inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my carp cavity spritzing like it used to. When he removed his brie baton from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the footlong fudge bullet off his thrill drill. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax trickling from my chocolate starfish and all over my flappy meal. After having my carp cavity raided, he then proceeded to pound my brown eye. There was love mayonnaise foaming from his stilton sword and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more.