There was cock custard flowing from his veiny quim prod and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. When he removed his greasy slimelight from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! Inserting a number of chillies into my vaginal bacon buffet got me spraying flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. With his cervix cigar raiding deep into my stench trench, the sensation of his greasy slimelight smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery.