[MB.]

Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spunk-filled spam rocket probed deeper into my chocolate starfish. I awoke the next morning with my pink velvet sausage wallet still slobbering. I thought it was over but his cervix cigar had other ideas. The plowing makes me spit my clunge gunge all over his wensleydale wand. It was bliss having his **** stretcher probed inside me again; stuffing my salmon slit with a squash just didn't get my ladytown spritzing like it used to. Inserting a number of chillies into my whispering eye got me ejecting vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip.

Of course.