There's good erotica, there's bad erotica l, then there's this
Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! Inserting my fist into my Quimcy, M.E. got me ejecting tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my shame portal and a squash up my brown mile. There was creamy load dribbling from his womb raider and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his muffbuster probed inside me again; stuffing my bearded haddock pasty with a gerbil just didn't get my smush mitten surging like it used to
An odd place for a gerbil…but how do you get the squash to fit?