By now, my slime hole was weeping like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The unrelenting orgasms from his timed slimer hammering my clearing in the woods made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. There was love piss haemorrhaging from his sperminator and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his cumtree stuffed inside me again; stuffing my stench trench with a number of chillies just didn't get my municipal cockwash surging like it used to. With my velcro triangle now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start sliding my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a colon cobra, I wondered?