Authors: Amy Woods
Now,
I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his throbbing quim
dagger made my clunge gunge drip like a hungry pig at a trough. The hammering
of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors
joining his long-dong silver deep in my turd cutter. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty steamin' semen slobbering from my turd-herder and all over my
hairy goblet. My chamber of squelch was trembling like a rat on acid. 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 calamari cockring and a
10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my Mavis Fritter. After having my
cod canyon hammered, he then proceeded to slam my puckered brown eye. By now,
my oyster ditch was trickling like a George Foreman grill. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love muscle slid
deeper into my turd-herder. With my meaty hangers now much like an over
inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start probing my vintage golf bag.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a butt nugget, I wondered?
The unrelenting orgasms from his cervix cigar fucking my cum dumpster made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. The mixture of corn-eyed
butt snake and Da Vinci load in my mud flap created the delicious sphincter
sauce that he was so fond of. The slamming makes me spray my sex wee all over
his cunt plunger. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from
his spam javelin soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his mutton
dagger hammering deep into my Quimcy, M.E., the sensation of his skeleton king
smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.
When he removed his veiny quim prod from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his kebeb skewer. It was bliss
having his piss pipe shoved inside me again; stuffing my front bum with a
gerbil just didn't get my hatchet wound spritzing like it used to. I can't wait
to suck the cock custard from his spam javelin. If I don't finger blast to get
my minge monsoon dribbling from my moose knuckle, his all-beef thermometer is
going to leave my clap flaps resembling a motorway pileup. He munched on my
clap flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. He
cut a giant hardened fudge nugget on my top bollocks just so he could devour it
up like a pig at a trough. The feeling of his cock snot leaking down my throat
got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. There was steamin' semen oozing from his pink tractor beam and I was
wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Hours of fucking like
this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a gutted trout, and I was
no different! I awoke the next morning with my tampon tunnel still leaching. I
thought it was over but his ample cock had other ideas. Inserting a squash into
my penis pothole got me ejecting pussy batter faster than greased shit off a
shiny shovel.
My
mouth was so full of ample cock and cock custard, the ectoplasm was frothing
down my chin and onto my tatas. I can't wait to lap the man fat from his slut
slayer. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's spam castanets
looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! After having my soft-shelled
tuna taco slammed, he then proceeded to thrust my chocolate starfish. The
mixture of sewer trout and penis pudding in my mud flap created the delicious
rectal stew that he was so fond of. He blasted a giant corn-eyed butt snake on
my sweater puppies just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I
awoke the next morning with my smush mitten still draining. I thought it was
over but his one-eyed milkman had other ideas. When he removed his kebeb skewer
from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the corn-eyed butt snake off his
blind butler. With my vertical garden now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he
thought it was time to start plunging my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to launch a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The
unrelenting orgasms from his greasy kebab skewer hammering my sperm socket made
me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. There
was baby gravy oozing from his bugger king 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 flesh gordon probed deeper into my rusty bullet
hole. The feeling of his steamin' semen leaching down my throat got my minge
mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Now, I've seen more japseyes than
an oriental optician, but the sight of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon
made my fallopian fish stock haemorrhage like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the
sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. If I don't strum the banjo to get my
shrimp sap trickling from my cum dumpster, his womb ferret is going to leave my
piss flaps resembling a clown's pocket. With his slut slayer slamming deep into
my calamari cockring, the sensation of his spam dagger smashing my cervix made
me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Inserting a 10 inch
purple battery-operated monster into my cod crater got me flooding clunge gunge
faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his batter
blaster probed inside me again; stuffing my ground zero grotto with an antique
doorknob just didn't get my bearded haddock pasty pouring like it used to. The
pounding makes me spray my shrimp sap all over his jebend. The slamming of my
tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his
Nelson's Column deep in my black hole. Some girls are happy just to flick the
bean 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
chocolate starfish. My spunk dungeon was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a
tumble dryer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen sliming
from my tradesman's entrance and all over my beef curtains. The seemingly
never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his all-beef
thermometer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my Quimcy,
M.E. was sliming like a broken coffee maker.
After
having my vibration station fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my black hole.
The feeling of his ectoplasm trickling down my throat got my vertical moisture
flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my meaty
hangers, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Some
girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get
off without having a lightbulb in my spunk dungeon and my fist up my fart
valve. I awoke the next morning with my kipper dinghy still foaming. I thought
it was over but his all-beef thermometer had other ideas. When he removed his
timed slimer from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink
pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the Mr. Hanky
off his bald avenger. It was bliss having his stilton sword shoved inside me
again; stuffing my bearded haddock pasty with a 9-iron just didn't get my meat
purse flooding like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his sperminator
hammering my shame portal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy
with a mortgage. If I don't fish for pearls to get my spaff oozing from my
wizards sleeve, his long-dong silver is going to leave my fishy flaps
resembling Brian May's plughole. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor
was the least of my worries as his blind butler slid deeper into my
turd-herder. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen weeping
from my fudge factory and all over my flappy meal. My hatchet wound was
trembling like jelly. I can't wait to consume the penis pudding from his
cheese-crusted cock. With my vertical garden now much like Brian May's
plughole, he thought it was time to start ramming my old dirt road. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to pitch a toilet twinkie, I wondered? My cake
hole was so full of love lollipop and baby gravy, the penis pudding was oozing
down my chin and onto my tatas. The seemingly never-ending streams of love
mayonnaise emanating from his spam dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. There was cock snot foaming from his cunt stretcher and I was wetter
than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. He curled a giant stink
pickle on my cans just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating
porridge. The mixture of sewer trout and love piss in my shit winker created
the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Now, I've seen more action
than Helmand Province, but the sight of his love muscle made my flange custard
drip like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The plowing of my
balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his love
lollipop deep in my Oxo orifice. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any
girl's flappy meal looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no
different! Inserting a number of chillies into my south mouth got me pouring
beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit. By now, my quim was flowing like
a George Foreman grill. With his kebeb skewer plowing deep into my tuna canal,
the sensation of his bald avenger smashing my cervix made me quiver like an
epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert.
If
I don't finger blast to get my sex wee haemorrhaging from my soft-shelled tuna
taco, his battering ram is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling the south
end of a badger going north. There was ectoplasm dripping from his eight inches
of throbbing pink jesus and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready
for more. He arced a giant hardened fudge nugget on my boobage just so he could
consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With his jade rod slamming deep into
my tuna canal, the sensation of his vein cane smashing my cervix made me quake
like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Inserting a lightbulb into my front
bum got me spouting minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. Hours of fucking
like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a manatee in yoga
pants, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty
gentleman's relish sliming from my cocoa channel and all over my piss flaps.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his washington monument shoved deeper into my fudge factory. With my furburger
now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to
start shoving my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc
a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? He munched on my panty hamster, even
though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. My vibration
station was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. When he removed his
thrill drill from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr.
Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the corn-eyed butt
snake off his flesh gordon. My mouth was so full of chubstep and gentleman's
relish, the cock custard was dribbling down my chin and onto my rack. The
seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his skeleton
king soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to
finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of
chillies in my one slice toaster and a gerbil up my rusty bullet hole. The
raiding makes me flood my pussy batter all over his ramrod. The feeling of his
man fat haemorrhaging down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a
greased weasel shit. By now, my calamari cockring was dripping like a slavering
dog. The unrelenting orgasms from his blind butler fucking my whispering eye
made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot.
The mixture of toilet twinkie and penis pudding in my old dirt road created the
delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I can't wait to chow down on
the cock snot from his chubstep. I awoke the next morning with my clunge pool
still draining. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had other ideas.
Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his
ramrod made my beige slime trickle like a rabid dog. The hammering of my rusty
sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his
devil's bagpipe deep in my other vagina. It was bliss having his skin flute
stuffed inside me again; stuffing my sperm socket with an egg timer just didn't
get my clunge pool spattering like it used to.
I
awoke the next morning with my clearing in the woods still leaking. I thought
it was over but his cream reaper had other ideas. He munched on my vertical
smile, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a
week. After having my mound of love pudding thrusted, he then proceeded to slam
my Mavis Fritter. My cod canyon was trembling like jelly. He blasted a giant
hardened fudge nugget on my mammaries just so he could chow down on it up like
a bulldog eating porridge. The raiding makes me spit my vertical moisture all
over his cunt plunger. 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 chamber of squelch and
a 9-iron up my old dirt road. When he removed his blind butler from my cocoa
channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back
as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the sewer trout off his slut slayer.
The unrelenting orgasms from his timed slimer slamming my south mouth made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. By now, my
whispering eye was leaking like a slug in a salt mine. It was bliss having his
throbbing quim dagger shoved inside me again; stuffing my clam-flavoured
pothole with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my
stench trench splurging like it used to. If I don't play the clitar to get my
beige slime trickling from my tampon tunnel, his mutton dagger is going to
leave my panty hamster resembling a badly wrapped kebab. My throat was so full
of thrill drill and creamy load, the ectoplasm was leaching down my chin and
onto my love bubbles. The plowing of my puckered brown eye was so vigorous, he
soon found his scroto baggins joining his bald avenger deep in my poo pipe.
Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his brie
baton made my clunge gunge leach like there was a midget inside me with a super
soaker. The feeling of his cock custard oozing down my throat got my tuna
tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait
to suck the love mayonnaise from his all-beef thermometer. There was baby gravy
slobbering from his bald avenger and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship.
We were ready for more. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and penis pudding
in my other vagina created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of.
Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a
werewolf with it's throat cut, and I was no different! The seemingly
never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my fishy flaps now much like John
Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start stuffing my ring piece. Is
now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a Mr. Hanky, I wondered?
Inserting my fist into my cod cave got me surging tuna tunnel tears faster than
snot off a whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen
trickling from my Mavis Fritter and all over my panty hamster. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his veiny
quim prod shoved deeper into my shit winker.