Authors: Amy Woods
My
mouth was so full of giggle stick and man fat, the man fat was leaching down my
chin and onto my sweater puppies. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor
was the least of my worries as his greasy kebab skewer stuffed deeper into my
Mavis Fritter. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from
his wrist-thick wand soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting my
fist into my salmon slit got me spraying shrimp sap faster than snot off a
whip. With his cumtree plowing deep into my stench trench, the sensation of his
one-eyed monster smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink
Floyd concert. There was cock snot trickling from his love muscle and I was
wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Some girls are happy
just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having
a number of chillies in my vibration station and my fist up my puckered brown
eye. I awoke the next morning with my south mouth still dribbling. I thought it
was over but his pink tractor beam had other ideas. With my vertical garden now
much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start sliding my balloon
knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a toilet twinkie, I
wondered? The hammering of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his
chin pounders joining his mutton dagger deep in my cocoa channel. Now, I've
seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his skeleton
king made my tuna tunnel tears drain like a broken coffee maker. After having
my hatchet wound plowed, he then proceeded to hammer my fart valve. He rolled a
giant colon cobra on my chest puppies just so he could lap it up like a bulldog
eating porridge. I can't wait to suck the ectoplasm from his chubstep. By now,
my herring hole was draining like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Hours of
pounding like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like badly
battered road kill, and I was no different! When he removed his spam javelin
from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the hardened fudge nugget
off his thrill drill. It was bliss having his chubstep probed inside me again;
stuffing my shame portal with a number of chillies just didn't get my sperm
socket spattering like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da
Vinci load seeping from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my open-faced ham
sandwich. My stench trench was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.
The unrelenting orgasms from his throbbing quim dagger raiding my clearing in
the woods made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked
shipping container. The pounding makes me spray my vertical moisture all over
his love lollipop. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had my
redwings for the best part of a week. If I don't tune the tuna to get my fallopian
fish stock frothing from my one slice toaster, his cervix cigar is going to
leave my meaty hangers resembling a stuntman's knee. The mixture of footlong
fudge bullet and man fat in my fudge factory created the delicious rectal stew
that he was so fond of.
There
was ectoplasm flowing from his womb raider and I was wetter than an otter's
pocket. We were ready for more. Inserting a gerbil into my cock holster got me
surging minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait
to devour the penis pudding from his tenderloin truncheon. If I don't dial the
rotary phone to get my sex wee seeping from my spunk dungeon, his bald-headed
yogurt slinger is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a gutted trout.
He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony
for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was
the least of my worries as his turgid terror truncheon rammed deeper into my
marmite motorway. By now, my meat purse was slobbering like a slavering dog. He
extruded a giant hardened fudge nugget on my chest puppies just so he could
devour it up like a pig at a trough. After having my municipal cockwash fucked,
he then proceeded to fuck my black hole. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty gentleman's relish flowing from my turd cutter and all over my vertical
smile. The slamming of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his family
jewels joining his giggle stick deep in my Mavis Fritter. The mixture of butt
nugget and love mayonnaise in my other vagina created the delicious rectoplasm
that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his sperminator slamming
my whispering eye made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in
a tampon factory. When he removed his wrist-thick wand from my vintage golf
bag, 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
purple-headed trouser snake. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's
piss flaps looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! Some
girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a gerbil in my vaginal bacon buffet and a lightbulb up my rusty
bullet hole. My ladytown was trembling like jelly. It was bliss having his skin
flute probed inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster just didn't get my clam-flavoured pothole ejecting
like it used to. My throat was so full of turgid terror truncheon and steamin'
semen, the gentleman's relish was foaming down my chin and onto my tatas. The
raiding makes me spout my spaff all over his blue-veined custard chucker. With
my clap flaps now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start
ramming my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a
corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Now, I've had more hands up me than The
Muppets, but the sight of his timed slimer made my minge monsoon froth like someone
had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. With his tallywacker raiding deep
into my vibrator crater, the sensation of his bugger king smashing my cervix
made me quiver like jelly. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load
emanating from his battering ram soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I
awoke the next morning with my bearded haddock pasty still foaming. I thought
it was over but his skin flute had other ideas.
If
I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my clunge
gunge haemorrhaging from my one slice toaster, his chorizo howitzer is going to
leave my flappy meal resembling a sand blasted tomato. The feeling of his penis
pudding seeping down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot
off a whip. It was bliss having his spam javelin probed inside me again;
stuffing my gashtray with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't
get my penis pothole splurging like it used to. By now, my chamber of squelch
was dripping like a rabid dog. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my
sperm socket got me splurging clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. With my vertical smile now much like a horse's collar, he thought it
was time to start sliding my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to crown a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? I awoke the next
morning with my ground zero grotto still oozing. I thought it was over but his
purple-headed trouser snake had other ideas. After having my quim fucked, he
then proceeded to raid my soft tight anus. The pounding of my black hole was so
vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his chorizo howitzer deep in
my vintage golf bag. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit,
but the sight of his long-dong silver made my tuna tunnel tears seep like a
rabid dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from
his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his
purple-headed trouser snake raiding deep into my oyster ditch, the sensation of
his Nelson's Column smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. There
was love mayonnaise oozing from his stilton spear and I was wetter than a
spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger
fucking my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo
during a prison riot. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's
lunchmeat looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! I can't wait to
chow down on the steamin' semen from his chubstep. 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 wizards sleeve and my fist up my soft tight anus. The mixture
of corn-eyed butt snake and love mayonnaise in my Oxo orifice created the
delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He munched on my furburger, even
though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. The
thrusting makes me spray my tuna tunnel tears all over his spam dagger. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty man fat sliming from my Oxo orifice and all
over my clap flaps. My cake hole was so full of washington monument and penis
pudding, the love piss was foaming down my chin and onto my mammaries. My south
mouth was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. When he removed
his wrist-thick wand from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the sewer
trout off his Nelson's Column. He extruded a giant stink pickle on my mammaries
just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough.
There
was love piss weeping from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than
an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The pounding of my shit winker
was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his greasy
kebab skewer deep in my balloon knot. I awoke the next morning with my one
slice toaster still dribbling. I thought it was over but his tenderloin
truncheon had other ideas. The feeling of his gentleman's relish dribbling down
my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait
to suck the cock snot from his turgid terror truncheon. The seemingly
never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his one-eyed monster soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my vaginal bacon buffet
plowed, he then proceeded to slam my fart valve. My throat was so full of spam
javelin and man fat, the magician's wax was slobbering down my chin and onto my
chest puppies. The hammering makes me spritz my clunge gunge all over his pink
tractor beam. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had my redwings
for the best part of a week. By now, my Quimcy, M.E. was weeping like Wayne
Rooney's dick in an OAP home. The unrelenting orgasms from his balony pony
thrusting my salmon slit made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo
during a prison riot. Inserting my fist into my birth cannon got me splurging
sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. When he removed his gristle missile
from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet
twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the toilet twinkie
off his skin flute. If I don't fluff the muff to get my tuna tunnel tears
dribbling from my shame portal, his spam dagger is going to leave my open-faced
ham sandwich resembling a badly wrapped kebab. The mixture of corn-eyed butt
snake and steamin' semen in my balloon knot created the delicious rectoplasm
that he was so fond of. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's
furburger looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! Now, I've
been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his meaty member made
my minge mucus leach like a broken fridge freezer. With his greasy slimelight
fucking deep into my wizards sleeve, the sensation of his cervix cigar smashing
my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load draining from my balloon knot and
all over my panty hamster. My tampon tunnel was trembling like Micheal J. Fox
licking a car battery. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're
alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my ladytown and an
antique doorknob up my vintage golf bag. With my roast beef platter now much
like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to start stuffing my marmite
motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a stink
pickle, I wondered? It was bliss having his bugger king plunged inside me
again; stuffing my whispering eye with a 10 inch purple battery-operated
monster just didn't get my cod canyon ejecting like it used to. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tenderloin
truncheon plunged deeper into my balloon knot.
Within
no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen slobbering from my turd cutter
and all over my velcro triangle. He copped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my
love bubbles just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. It
was bliss having his purple-headed trouser snake probed inside me again;
stuffing my stench trench with a gerbil just didn't get my clearing in the
woods gushing like it used to. With his balony pony raiding deep into my fuck
trench, the sensation of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus smashing my
cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Hours of fucking
like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a darts team's
goalkeeper, and I was no different! The feeling of his love mayonnaise flowing
down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and penis pudding in my Mavis Fritter created
the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from
his love muscle fucking my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began sweating
like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. Inserting my fist into my mound of love
pudding got me squirting clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. If I don't study english cliterature to get my shrimp sap dribbling
from my ladytown, his jebend is going to leave my furburger resembling the
south end of a badger going north. There was love piss frothing from his
spunk-filled spam rocket and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were
ready for more. The fucking of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon
found his trouser conkors joining his piss pipe deep in my soft tight anus.
With my panty hamster now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was
time to start stuffing my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to ease a colon cobra, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of
gentleman's relish emanating from his ample cock soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the
sight of his cream reaper made my shrimp sap weep like Augustus Gloop's mouth
at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. By now, my kipper dinghy was
draining like a broken coffee maker. My cake hole was so full of kebeb skewer
and magician's wax, the magician's wax was slobbering down my chin and onto my
mosquito bites. After having my ruby cave thrusted, he then proceeded to plow
my rusty sherif's badge. I can't wait to chow down on the ectoplasm from his
bald-headed yogurt slinger. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster in my municipal cockwash and an antique doorknob up my
poop chute. My smush mitten was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd
concert. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd had the painters in
for the best part of a week. The raiding makes me spray my vertical moisture
all over his clunger. I awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still
trickling. I thought it was over but his clunger had other ideas. When he
removed his slut slayer from my balloon knot, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the butt
nugget off his love muscle.