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radio. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his cervix cigar rammed deeper into my ring piece.
Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my sperm socket got me spouting minge
monsoon faster than snot off a whip. If I don't buff the muff to get my
fallopian fish stock weeping from my clunge pool, his slut slayer is going to
leave my vertical garden resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. After having my
chlamydia canal pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my old dirt road. I awoke
the next morning with my gashtray still foaming. I thought it was over but his
cumtree had other ideas. The feeling of his baby gravy sliming down my throat
got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are
happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get
off without having a gerbil in my ladytown and an egg timer up my poop chute.
When he removed his chorizo howitzer from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his turgid terror truncheon. By now, my
oyster ditch was sliming like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara
Falls. The fucking of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his
man berries joining his Ocean's 11 Inches deep in my Mavis Fritter. The
unrelenting orgasms from his chubstep hammering my front bum made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. The mixture of
sewer trout and love mayonnaise in my tradesman's entrance created the
delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. My mouth was so full of tenderloin
truncheon and Da Vinci load, the Da Vinci load was slobbering down my chin and
onto my tatas. There was gentleman's relish dripping from his Ocean's 11 Inches
and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. With my beef
curtains now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was
time to start plunging my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to crown a toilet twinkie, I wondered? He pitched a giant toilet twinkie
on my cans just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. He munched
on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a
week. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight
of his blind butler made my minge mucus drain like a broken coffee maker.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm leaking from my poo pipe and
all over my fishy flaps. I can't wait to chow down on the cock snot from his
Ocean's 11 Inches.
    The
unrelenting orgasms from his washington monument hammering my penis pothole
made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. He munched
on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the
best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my gaping clam cavern still
frothing. I thought it was over but his cunt stretcher had other ideas. The
feeling of his Da Vinci load leaching down my throat got my fallopian fish
stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my flappy meal
now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start probing
my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a hardened fudge
nugget, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax
leaching from my turd-herder and all over my flappy meal. Now, I've taken more
poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his giggle stick made my minge mucus
flow like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. I can't wait to lap
the magician's wax from his jebend. Inserting a squash into my gaping clam
cavern got me flowing minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone,
but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my clearing in the woods and
my fist up my fudge factory. Leaving my