Kicking the tires on auto post. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they’re alone, but I can’t get off without having an egg timer in my ground zero grotto and a number of chillies up my shit winker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his giggle stick rammed deeper into my soft tight anus. With his mutton dagger raiding deep into my front bum, the sensation of his all-beef thermometer smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and Da Vinci load in my black hole created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The plowing of my tradesman’s entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his disco stick deep in my cocoa channel.
The thrusting makes me splurge my spaff all over his wrist-thick wand. I awoke the next morning with my frilling pink golf bag still dripping. I thought it was over but his washington monument had other ideas. When he removed his jebend from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn’t wait to chow down on the stink pickle off his blind butler. The mixture of stink pickle and love piss in my ring piece created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Now, I’ve had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his cunt plunger made my shrimp sap leach like a hungry pig at a trough.