Charlotte Church

It’s been a long time cumming, but here it finally is.

The ultimate wank.

The one, the only, the in no way can you look at her and not feel a twinge of wanklust.

Charlotte Church

There is so much pictorial evidence in favour of me abusing my winky to within an inch of it’s life.  Which isn’t a wise thing as it’s not as if I’ve an abundance of inches to spare.  I mean, if it shrinks below it’s incredibly impressive 4 inches, I may have to consider using less than two fingers to knock one out.

Here she is :

As you’ll see she’s demonstrating here that the one button open thing doesn’t just work for night club sex pests.  And also sucking on the ear piece from your shades that has just been inside yourself is not just for that drunk, self loathing bridesmaid at the last wedding I worked at.  That was an awkward toast.

This was taken just after I had massive quadra-member in between her chesticles and given her a pearl necklace that only shows up when the light hits her in a certain way.  That prune faced bint behind her is jealous.  She wanted to give Charlotte a pearl necklace, but her cock was too small.

I love munching on her boosh.  Especially when she’s wearing one of those little dresses that just about covers her juicy ass.  I just get on my knees, and chew on that carpet until she gushes.  I’ve learned my lesson though, I’ve bought a paddling pool.  Such are the perils of being a maestro muff muncher.  She likes when I inject a little humour too, which is why she’s smiling.  I tell jokes, they usually go something like this:

“Did you hear the one about the toss bag rugby player?  He mmmph mmm mmpphhhh mm hmmph”

It’s hard to deliver a punchline when you’re tonguing a love tunnel, but she gets the jist.

Bless her, she tries to look non chalant as I explore her deep space with my rogering ramjet at the latest garden party we have to attend because of her celebrity.  Celebrity can be such a chore.

PVC, high heels, sweaty, holding a phallic object and a look of pain underlined pleasure?  If there was a bald lesbian lady gimp, a petrol powered dildo machine and a Labrador it’d be right out of my diary.

There’s nothing we like to do more than rip up the papers who say she’s a two bit whore for letting me pump her rump and kick them about the place.  Then I’ll crawl up inside that skirt, tongue her deep enough to give her a tickle in the back of her throat and then suck those toes to nubs before she bounces on my Beefy McManstick.  Then she’ll finish off with a man chowder treat for good behaviour.  True story.

No shoes allowed on my carpet, and no knickers allowed on hers.  Hence the fishets.  They give her the feeling that she’s not a complete spunk junkie, but she is.  She really, really is.

And just in case you needed any more evidence that I have in fact on numerous occasions left wet spots all over the gaff with Charlotte, I give you this.  Here is a genuine, real and in no way fake or photoshopped image of Charlotte and her delicious dumplings that I bury my custard chucker in between.

Til next time…