Authors: Amy Woods
I
can't wait to lap the magician's wax from his batter blaster. With my vertical
smile now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start probing my
Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a Mr. Hanky, I
wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his purple beaver buster shoved deeper into my shit winker. When he
removed his meaty member from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see
a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble
the hardened fudge nugget off his purple-headed trouser snake. By now, my
shamevelope was haemorrhaging like a broken coffee maker. My bearded haddock
pasty was trembling like a rat on acid. The seemingly never-ending streams of
baby gravy emanating from his spam dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. The fucking makes me spray my spaff all over his kebeb skewer. If I
don't play the clitar to get my flange custard sliming from my front bum, his
womb raider is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a manatee in yoga
pants. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had the painters in
for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his timed slimer
fucking my calamari cockring made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat
slag in a disco. I awoke the next morning with my carp cavity still frothing. I
thought it was over but his muffbuster had other ideas. Inserting a 10 inch
purple battery-operated monster into my birth cannon got me spritzing minge
mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could feel
the shitty creamy load trickling from my Oxo orifice and all over my meaty
hangers. The slamming of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his man
marbles joining his cunt stretcher deep in my turd-herder. The feeling of his
baby gravy foaming down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a
greased weasel shit. It was bliss having his jade rod plunged inside me again;
stuffing my one slice toaster with a gerbil just didn't get my tampon tunnel
spouting like it used to. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger
puppets 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 brown eye. Now,
I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his cheese-crusted
cock made my pussy batter slobber like there was a midget inside me with a
super soaker. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet
looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! He curled a giant stink pickle
on my chesticles just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. There
was cock custard dripping from his purple-headed trouser snake and I was wetter
than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. My cake hole was so full
of batter blaster and cock custard, the Da Vinci load was dripping down my chin
and onto my sweater puppies. The mixture of toilet twinkie and man fat in my
fudge factory created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With
his slut slayer raiding deep into my penis pothole, the sensation of his
battering ram smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink
Floyd concert.
When
he removed his wrist-thick wand from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
devour the stink pickle off his love lollipop. There was magician's wax weeping
from his thrill drill and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for
more. After having my salmon slit plowed, he then proceeded to slam my balloon
knot. My ladytown was trembling like jelly. By now, my fuck trench was dripping
like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The feeling of his
creamy load haemorrhaging down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker
than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd
been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. Inserting an antique
doorknob into my cod canyon got me gushing sex wee faster than snot off a whip.
I can't wait to gobble the cock snot from his skin flute. With his one-eyed
milkman hammering deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his greasy
slimelight smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble
dryer. The plowing makes me eject my pussy batter all over his stilton spear.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax draining from my brown
eye and all over my meaty hangers. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second
hand dartboard, but the sight of his purple beaver buster made my sex wee
haemorrhage like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate
river. My throat was so full of pink tractor beam and Da Vinci load, the man
fat was oozing down my chin and onto my cans. The seemingly never-ending
streams of penis pudding emanating from his bugger king soon had me coated like
a plasterer's radio. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic
motion to get my tuna tunnel tears sliming from my slime hole, his pink tractor
beam is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a werewolf with it's throat
cut. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger hammering my cod canyon made
me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. It was bliss
having his muffbuster slid inside me again; stuffing my clunge pool with a 10
inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my slime hole spritzing
like it used to. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's roast beef
platter looking like a werewolf with it's throat cut, and I was no different!
The slamming of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser
conkors joining his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon deep in my marmite motorway.
He copped a giant butt nugget on my love bubbles just so he could suck it up
like a bulldog eating porridge. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor
was the least of my worries as his spam javelin probed deeper into my brown
mile. 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 vaginal bacon buffet and a 10 inch
purple battery-operated monster up my Oxo orifice. I awoke the next morning
with my bearded haddock pasty still leaching. I thought it was over but his
huge penis had other ideas. With my roast beef platter now much like that
bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start ramming my turd
cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a hardened fudge nugget,
I wondered?
When
he removed his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus from my brown mile, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to chow down on the footlong fudge bullet off his timed slimer.
The unrelenting orgasms from his devil's bagpipe slamming my stench trench made
me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Some girls are
happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a 15" spiked vibrator in my frilling pink golf bag and a lightbulb
up my shit winker. Inserting an antique doorknob into my meat purse got me
spritzing fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. By now, my
ladytown was seeping like a George Foreman grill. With his brie baton fucking
deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix
made me quiver like a rat on acid. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock
custard dribbling from my cocoa channel and all over my fishy flaps. If I don't
play the clitar to get my vertical moisture frothing from my split peach, his
jade rod is going to leave my panty hamster resembling the Japanese flag. My
throat was so full of purple beaver buster and gentleman's relish, the love
piss was leaking down my chin and onto my cans. With my panty hamster now much
like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start stuffing my fart valve.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a toilet twinkie, I
wondered? He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had the painters in
for the best part of a week. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and creamy
load in my soft tight anus created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond
of. There was penis pudding trickling from his timed slimer 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 greasy kebab skewer soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of plowing like this would leave any
girl's vertical smile looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! My
tuna canal was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The fucking
makes me spray my tuna tunnel tears all over his meaty member. I can't wait to
chow down on the Da Vinci load from his pink tractor beam. The hammering of my
black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his giggle
stick deep in my poo pipe. The feeling of his penis pudding flowing down my
throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the
next morning with my clearing in the woods still foaming. I thought it was over
but his cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. He arced a giant butt nugget on my
mammaries just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. After having my
slime hole plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my marmite motorway. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his brie
baton slid deeper into my tradesman's entrance. Now, I've taken more poundings
than the Somme, but the sight of his love muscle made my tuna tunnel tears foam
like a broken coffee maker.
The
hammering of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his
jingle-jangle jewellery joining his huge penis deep in my black hole. Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his giggle
stick slid deeper into my mud flap. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler,
but the sight of his all-beef thermometer made my beige slime leak like a
broken fridge freezer. I awoke the next morning with my split peach still
foaming. I thought it was over but his master of ceremonies had other ideas. My
chamber of squelch was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. After
having my Quimcy, M.E. fucked, he then proceeded to pound my mud flap. Some
girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a barbie doll in my carp cavity and an antique doorknob up my
Mavis Fritter. My cake hole was so full of cheese-crusted cock and man fat, the
love piss was dribbling down my chin and onto my rack. It was bliss having his
blind butler shoved inside me again; stuffing my cum dumpster with a 9-iron
just didn't get my tampon tunnel surging like it used to. The unrelenting
orgasms from his batter blaster slamming my furry cup made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. The mixture of toilet twinkie and
penis pudding in my marmite motorway created the delicious rectal stew that he
was so fond of. The feeling of his steamin' semen trickling down my throat got
my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my
flappy meal, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of
a week. If I don't buff the muff to get my flange custard slobbering from my wizards
sleeve, his veiny quim prod is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling
a twisted slipper. The hammering makes me squirt my pussy batter all over his
cunt plunger. By now, my ladytown was oozing like a broken fridge freezer. The
seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his spam javelin
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to gobble the cock
snot from his skin flute. With my purple cabbage now much like a ripped out
fireplace, he thought it was time to start probing my balloon knot. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to curl a stink pickle, I wondered? There was
penis pudding seeping from his spunk-filled spam rocket and I was wetter than a
bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Hours of plowing like this would
leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was
no different! He rolled a giant footlong fudge bullet on my twin peaks just so
he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. Within no time, I could feel
the shitty love mayonnaise oozing from my mud flap and all over my panty
hamster. With his balony pony plowing deep into my carp cavity, the sensation
of his disco stick smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink
Floyd concert. Inserting an antique doorknob into my whispering eye got me
spouting clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
By
now, my wizards sleeve was seeping like a rabid dog. The fucking of my cocoa
channel was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his spam
dagger deep in my mud flap. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's
flappy meal looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! Within
no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load foaming from my puckered brown eye
and all over my spam castanets. With his piss pipe plowing deep into my
enchilada of love, the sensation of his throbbing quim dagger smashing my
cervix made me quiver like jelly. The hammering makes me gush my minge mucus
all over his brie baton. 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 15" spiked vibrator in my shame portal and a squash up my marmite
motorway. After having my hatchet wound raided, he then proceeded to slam my
turd-herder. There was love piss dripping from his blind butler and I was
wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. I can't wait to
consume the steamin' semen from his skeleton king. He crowned a giant hardened
fudge nugget on my fiery biscuits just so he could suck it up like a pig at a
trough. I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole still leaking. I thought
it was over but his cunt stretcher had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending
streams of baby gravy emanating from his spam javelin soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my flange custard
frothing from my hot pocket, his jade rod is going to leave my lunchmeat
resembling a horse's collar. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my
municipal cockwash got me spritzing clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. My cake hole was so full of cunt plunger and love mayonnaise, the
cock snot was draining down my chin and onto my top bollocks. With my fishy
flaps now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start stuffing
my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a hardened fudge
nugget, I wondered? It was bliss having his thrill drill stuffed inside me
again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with my fist just didn't get my cock holster
ejecting like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam javelin
slamming my tampon tunnel made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary
glitter at PC World. When he removed his spam dagger from my poop chute, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He
knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his wrist-thick
wand. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his wrist-thick
wand made my vertical moisture trickle like there was a midget inside me with a
super soaker. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been surfing the
crimson tide for the best part of a week. My tuna canal was trembling like
Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The feeling of his baby gravy draining
down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit
off a shiny shovel. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and creamy load in my
fudge factory created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of.