My birth cannon was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. I can't wait to devour the magician's wax from his tallywacker. He blasted a giant colon cobra on my sweater puppies just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With my vertical garden now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start ramming my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my smush mitten still seeping. I thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas.

After having my clam-flavoured pothole pounded, he then proceeded to pound my marmite motorway. I can't wait to suck the Da Vinci load from his one-eyed monster. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and love piss in my poop chute created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. When he removed his ample ♥♥♥♥ from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the corn-eyed butt snake off his piss pipe.

Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! After having my frilling pink golf bag raided, he then proceeded to raid my mud flap. There was penis pudding weeping from his chubstep and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. My mouth was so full of gristle missile and Da Vinci load, the Da Vinci load was dribbling down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole still flowing. I thought it was over but his Ocean's 11 Inches had other ideas.

The slamming of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his one-eyed monster deep in my turd-herder. By now, my hot pocket was dribbling like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my stench trench and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my cocoa channel. There was creamy load draining from his ♥♥♥♥ plunger and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my tuna tunnel tears dribbling from my clearing in the woods, his spam javelin is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling Terry Waite's allotment.

The plowing makes me spritz my spaff all over his Nelson's Column. When he removed his tallywacker from my ♥♥♥♥ winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the hardened fudge nugget off his bald-headed yogurt slinger. If I don't play the clitar to get my flange custard draining from my depravity cavity, his one-eyed milkman is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a blind cobbler's thumb. I can't wait to suck the steamin' semen from his love muscle. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different!

The unrelenting orgasms from his tallywacker ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ my mound of love pudding made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. After having my ♥♥♥♥ trench hammered, he then proceeded to slam my soft tight anus. With his love muscle thrusting deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his batter blaster smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. I can't wait to devour the man fat from his Nelson's Column.