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With his vein cane thrusting deep into my spunk dungeon, the sensation of his cunt stretcher smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. After having my cod crater thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my poop chute. The mixture of toilet twinkie and Da Vinci load in my turd cutter created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. There was Da Vinci load leaching from his ample cock and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The feeling of his magician's wax slobbering down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
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The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his disco stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The fucking of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his piss pipe deep in my old dirt road. The feeling of his magician's wax seeping down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat trickling from my tradesman's entrance and all over my panty hamster. With my beef curtains now much like a badly wrapped kebab, 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?
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By now, my one slice toaster was flowing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Inserting a lightbulb into my shamevelope got me spritzing minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his brie baton stuffed deeper into my soft tight anus. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! If I don't strum the banjo to get my clunge gunge leaking from my frilling pink golf bag, his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a clown's pocket.
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Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm foaming from my puckered brown eye and all over my piss flaps. My throat was so full of womb raider and man fat, the gentleman's relish was dribbling down my chin and onto my droopies. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his chorizo howitzer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his one-eyed monster probed inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity with an antique doorknob just didn't get my gashtray spraying like it used to. Inserting a barbie doll into my wunder down under got me gushing spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
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Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon made my tuna tunnel tears flow like a broken coffee maker. The unrelenting orgasms from his muffbuster slamming my depravity cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. 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 squash in my oyster ditch and a lightbulb up my chocolate starfish. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen seeping from my tradesman's entrance and all over my panty hamster. The feeling of his ectoplasm sliming down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.
