creamygoodness

"Mr Akabusi, please come in" said the secretary as she adjusted her horn rimmed glasses and felt the sudden rush of blood to her clunge.

Akabusi strode into the room like a Titan with a clown face. His eyes were drawn to the secretary's tight black pencil skirt and loose white blouse, through which he could see a straining white bra and within that a pair of massive bristols.

"I've come to fix your pipes" announced Kriss with his deep barotone timbre filling the room like spunk filling a vagina after after a ten year prison sentence.

The secretary quickly sat on the desk and unhooked her tight Croydon facelift hairdo unleashing waves and waves of lush brown hair.

Akubusi dropped his dungerees and let his throbbing member fall to the ground. As he spied the secretary's glistening axe wound his cock stood to attention quicker than a Chelsea Pensioner at the Cenotaph.

He then banged her. And banged her. And banged her. Until the secretary was like a floppy doll covered with spunk.

As Akubusi wiped his now flacid python on some company stationery he whispered "Awooga" to the naked secretary and patted her on the fanny.

The End

Akabusi scaled the walls of the 756,000 Sussex mansion with all the stealth of a gekko on a Mallorcan shower wall. AS luck would have it the window was open. He dropped in and slipped out of his dungerees and let the cool air caress his polished ebony skin.

The house was quiet. He looked into one room and saw the sleeping Peter Andre - without the wig and wax on his face he was rather beautiful. But Akabusi wasn't into arses. Not today.

He heard a noise coming from the bathroom. He ran along the landing, his giant cock swinging in the air like Saddam on Youtube. He looked into the bathroom and saw a mad little f**ker, big as a barrel and blind as a bat leaping up and down in some boiling water.

"Akabusi!" said a voice behind him. "Stop looking at my son with your cock out".

Akabusi slowly turned around and saw Katie Price in front of him - wearing nothing but a Juicy Couture camisole and the slightest glistening of her ample clunge.

As ever Akabusi's cock became harder than the Guardian cryptic and proceeded to bang her tits off as Harvey ate a bag of Prawn Cocktail crisps from the floor that Akabusi had brought just in case.

Before Akabusi left he wiped his now dying cock on Harvey's afro, bent down to the prone Jordan, who lay liked a painter's radio in the moonlight, and whispered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

The End

Akabusi didn't like going to the dental hygenist as much as the next man but his smile was his bread and butters. So he lay back on the patent leather chair and felt his anus tighten like a pupil in flashlight.

The nurse came into the room and immediately Akabusi could smell pussy and it was strong. Within the confines of his dungerees he could feel the old chap twitch like a Michael J Fox without the pills. The nurse bent over Akabusi to check his molars and he caught a glimpse of her huge bristols.

He said "Ahhh". As the nurse left the room to get a lollipop and a sticker Akabusi wasted no time. He leapt up and slipped out of the dungerees, letting the air con in the room tingle his black and curlys. He thought briefly about having a w*nk before so he could last longer but it was too late.

The nurse walked into the room and spying the naked ebony Adonis before her became wetter than a paper towel in a Koh Sumai hotel on Boxing Day 2004. She let the white tunic slip to the ground and unleash an epic pair of tits and a pussy with less hair than Lex Luthor.

Akabusi mounted her like Dettori and rode her in the dentists chair until he came all over her like an airport fire hose. Because his mouth was so numb from the anesthetic he went down on her soaky wet clunge piece for about an hour before he came. And her as well. Obviously.

As he pulled on his dungerees he wiped his now fallen hero on the lollipop the nurse had given him, bent down over her spattered porcelain body and whispered "Awooga" in her ear before patting her on the fanny.

The End

Akabusi sat back at his desk in his 127,000 mansion outside Luton as he sent off another lottery scam email to an unsuspecting victim. He had been keeping a low profile since the Tanni Gray Thompson Testimonial - there had been problems with access and Tanni had been left in the car park.

He'd spent most of his day walking around his study naked, the newly installed central heating allowing him free and easy nudity. After watching Working Lunch Akabusi positioned a full length mirror so he could have a w*nk as he flexed his biceps which were so black and shiny you wouldn't be embarrassed to upholster a Porsche 911 with.

He had to drive to Letchworth later to open a new JJB Sports with Roger Black so he turned off the computer and popped his dungerees on and headed to the kitchen to toast a blueberry Poptart.

Before he got to the bottom of his walnut finish stairs there was a loud knock at the door.

As he opened the door Akabusi knew he was going to f**k something this rainy afternoon. There before him we two young women both in smart pencil line skirts and green blousons that he knew concealed at least four epic bristols.

"We're Scientologists!" chimed the duo with accents sweeter than Midnight Hot on FTV when the missus is out. "Would you like to take a stress test?"

Before he knew it Akabusi was serving blueberry Poptarts to the girls in his second living room. Akabusi could feel a spasm in his veiny colossus every time the girls said Dianetics and before long he "accidently" let his denim dungerees drop to the shagpile revealing his toned form that was as black and scary as a balcalva in Derry.

The girls didn't flinch and attached the cold metal of the E - Meter to his now throbbing ebony hose. "Do you like Tanni Gray Thompson?" was the first of many questions asked by the two blondes. Throughout the dials made no movement.

"Would you like to f**k us both on your pleatherette settee?" asked one of the girls. Immediately the E-Meter exploded and Akabusi's cock became so hard he knew he could drill to Calais if they needed him.

He pulled the girls blousons apart with his newly cleaned teeth as they slipped out of their tight skirts exposing four pert and peachy tits and two clunges with so little hair he thought he was looking at Right Said Fred as kids.

He barged into the two of them like a stock car and before long he was plunging his Super Tennants can of a cock into one girl's arsehole as he used his famous tongue on another's clunge that was wetter than a 21st on the Marchioness.

Within hours it was all over, the Scientologists strewn across the plastic sheeting Akabusi had put down moments before copulating. In his head he was humming Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings as he had never seen such twisted naked flesh, cum and blood since Hazel Irvine cam over. His battered cock weeped the last remnants of his powerful seed as he wound it up and slipped into his dungerees.

"Would you like to meet Tom Cruise, Mr Abukusbi?" said one of the girls as she coughed up a short and curly hairball.

"f**k off, I know Fatima Whitbread!" roared Akabusi with a laugh that filled the spacious two bedroom semi like Fern Britton in a thong. He bent down, whisphered "Awooga" in her ear, patted the other on the fanny.

And walked out of the house, slamming the door. Then remembering it was his house. And he was wearing his indoor dungerees. He had no car keys. And he was late for the JJB Sports opening in Letchworth.

The End.

Akabusi sat in a multistorey car park in Borehamwood. He was savaging a Sweet Onion Chicken Teriyaki Subway sandwich on Hearty Italian like a Rottweiler on a scouser. He had picked it up from a drive thru Sub on the A1 earlier. The spotty c**t who served him, had asked whether he wanted 6 inch or a foot long. Akabusi had laughed at the prepostrous question so loud the gherkins and pickles had curled. People just didn't understand Akabusi.

Kriss liked Chicken Teriyaki - it made his seed taste funny. And he knew that because today ended in a "y" he was going to get some f**king action and some poor bitch was going to be choking on more white stuff than Prince Charles best mate in Klosters. So he liked to prepare.

Hot Chipolte Southwest Sauce slipped onto his denim dungerees and ran down his glistening ebony carcass finding the tight, black hairs that slept at the base of his onyx titan like Sherpas at basecamp. He felt his chocolate post box twinge with anticipation, his giant balls rising like landing gear on a jumbo. He washed himself down with a Easy4men.com wet wipe and used a pencil to pick the crap from between his gigantic white tombstone like teeth. He headed for the lift and the short walk to the studios.

Akabusi had been persuaded by his agent Harvey Goldenblum to do Celebrity Big Brother. Akabusi was boracic. He had invested in an Egyptian pyramid scheme and it a had gone tits up. It was clear that he wasn't going to get a pyramid for the 127,000 he'd invested so he pulled out and lost everything. Endemol were prepared to pay him 300 for his late entrance into the house and an extra 40.07 for every money shot on camera. Akabusi knew he could take Endemol to the cleaners with this rate - he was looking to make 100,000 a day.

Akabusi burst through the doors of the house dead on 11.37. He didn't want any fanfare or twats screaming "Awooga" or Davinia mugging to camera - he was here to get some money together to buy a Wonder of the World and get his slobbering doberman of a cock as sodden and as ravaged as a New Orleans resident.

Everyone turned to look at Akabusi who stood in the harsh light of the house like a black, denim Superman. Akabusi let out such a roar that the live feed was disrupted momentarily and Cleo's milky white bazukkas shoke like Cassius Clay blowing out the 65th candle. They were all there - the melted raisin that called himself Jermaine, the faded B-Movie has been called Dick, two streaks of p*ss called H and Jock and then a parade of pussy so varied Akabusi thought he was in the RSPCA rehoming centre. But Kriss had been contracted to do only one thing and that was called Shipla or Shipman or something.

He let slip the straps of his dungerees and let the dank air of the Big Brother house caress his sexualised, ebony opus like a cheap Thai suit massage. His eyes descended on Shiplman and his plonker filled with more engorged muscle than a club in Vauxhall. His pulsating veins looked like a busy road system near Birmingham and his hairy heavyweight testes were sparring with each other like East End kids done good. He knew that beneath the Shilling's face bleach and impeccable manners were a pair of epic Bollywood bristols and at a pussy so fragrant Jade would release it as a perfume called "Indian Bitch".

He stalked Shipma like a Bengal tiger around the garden. His diamond hard erection accidently pierced the bodies of f**kpig Goody, scouse skank Daniel and Pat Butcher from S Club. For the briefest of moments he stood there looking like a mahogany scum kebab and could feel the pre cum rising covering his kevlar helmut like early morning dew. He wrestled off the bodies and set upon Shillpin.

Shipmate was defenseless. Seeing Akabusi looking like a Zulu massacre carrying his herculean, black pillar like a Greek God architect she decided to get stuck in. She let her sari fall to the ground exposing a pair of mocha tits like two Taj Mahals and a clunge so neat and tidy that Capability Brown was involved. Akabusi knew that from the gushing Ganges surrounding her tight Khyber Pass he was going to have an epic Mahabharat session.

He skewered Shilpan and rode her like a jet black whale on tip of a Tuk Tuk. His hands were busier than Ganesh at a call centre. Within hours he shot his mango chutney all over her battered naan bread like torso. He flopped out of her like a horse being born and watched the last of his army of spermazota crawl away from his dying helmut into the shadows.

"Thanks Shipmate. That was a quality bunk up." he roared at her and the others who had fallen to the ground to pray to any God who was listening. He rolled up his king dong like a Persian carpet and slipped into his dungerees. He couldn't stand it in the House anymore and had decided to leave. He'd get his Pyramid somehow, but not in this c**t soup of a place.

He bent over the pile of giant jizz, matted brown hair, uncooked chicken and bleached facial hair and whispered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

The End.

Akabusi sat in the park throwing bits of sausage roll at a one legged pigeon as the winter sun beat down on his ebony dome like Ike on his first wife. He'd picked up two sausage rolls and a Steak Bake from Gregg's at the station and found a quiet spot in the park. The Steak Bake had given him serious heart burn which only a bottle of Tango could put out. He'd bought a bottle of Lilt instead. All in all it had been a sh*t day for Akabusi.

His accountant Harvey Goldenblum had called him earlier and confirmed that his 117,980 mansion in Brickhills had been repossessed by the National Lottery. Akabusi had become addicted to online scratchcards and things had got so bad he sold all his medals and naked pictures he had of Norris McWhirter. The ten quid he had got on eBay for the lot hadnt made a big difference.

On the upside the cool air of the wind brushed against his expresso chassis like Rolf Harris on canvas. He felt his tremondous length growl like a waking tiger - it wanted feeding and he knew it only ate pussy. He popped his hand inside his grey dungerees and pinched the increasingly engorged helmut to quell it's mounting excitement. He brushed pastry flakes into a pile and then necked the lot of it. It made him feel good. Like a man again.

He made a little pooh behind a tree and headed over the road to the Palace.

Akabusi had been to Buckingham Palace before - he picked up some mickey mouse MBE back in the day. He hadn't disgraced himself and poor old dead Diana had welcomed a fanny patting. Today Akabusi and Roger Black were receiving a little badge to thank them for not killing any spastics on a outward bound trip to the Brecon Beacons. The Palace didn't know that a little window slurper had fallen off a cliff and Akabusi and Black had buried the body in a shallow grave. Hopefully feral cats and foxes would do the rest.

Akabusi mingled with the crowds of Lords, Ladies and f**king Tanni Gray Thompson. Tanni managed to get invited to all these things and the Palace had excellent access due to the Queen Mother. Akabusi didn't need any encouragement from Jim Davidson, who was receiving a knighthood for services to race relations, and pushed Tanni into a broom cupboard and jammed the door. Hopefully the feral cats and foxes would do the rest.

The Queen appeared. Akabusi couldn't help but feel a sudden rush of blood and cum rush into his empty brown wheely bin and his giant testes twitch like a black body builders pectorals. His proud onyx majesty rose to attention as everyone stood. He looked like a brown flag pole and his flag of spunk and a little p*ss was attempting to unfurl. As Her Majesty went by his erection fell to it's knees quicker than a Romford secretary. She was minging.

Akabusi was f**king confused. He was expecting Helen Mirren - that glorious old milf that he'd seen on a pirate dvd the night before. The reality was some old bird who he suspected had bristols like burst balloons and a clunge as crusty and useless as a Conservative Peer. His sword sheathed and his balls bowed Akabusi went off looking for pussy elsewhere.

Akabusi headed down to the stables. He liked horses, they knew what it was like to carry such a dead weight betwixt ones's thighs and he often used to train with Desert Orchid at the Linford Christie Track. The sessions would often end with mutual masturbation from which Akabusi would keep Orchid's horsefat and sell it to Arabs. He didn't know what Orchid did with his though.

Kriss let the buckles of his smart dungerees slip to the sh*t covered hay and let the fetid air of the stables circle him scum round buy one get one free deals. "Do you ride Mr Abakumisi?" said a female voice from behind Akabusi. He froze. The lady was so full of plums he felt like he felt when he'd teabagged Janet Street Porter.

He slowly turned around looking like a chocolate Challenger tank heading into battle. Before him was a brunette dressed in tight cream jodhpurs, white blouson and a pair of patent leather riding boots that would bring a tear of cum to any man's cock eye. He knew that beneath the riding gear were at the most two sparking bristols and a clunge as smart and as bald as Helen Rollinson. But not as dead.

"Do I ride? What do you f**king think!" he roared with a laugh so loud the horses bolted into the yard and killed two OBEs and a bloke in an electronic wheelchair. His sceptre rose to knight the girl whose tight jodphurs were becoming wetter than a child at an Art Malik birthday party. He was going to get royally laid.

"My name's Kate. Kate Middleton" she said with a voice as silky and hot as a balti fart in tight jockeys. Akabusi became so hard he thought some c**t was going to put Excalibur into it. The future Queen let loose rivlets of brown hair and loosened the buttons of her blouson. Akabusi wasn't one ot stand on ceremony so he tore her top off like a Zulu at Rourke's Drift. A pair of epic creamy white bristols store at him like Paul McKenna's eyes. Kate ripped off her jods and stood before Akabusi naked - her glistening axe wound beckoning him to bow at her feet.

Akabusi tore into her like Henry VIII at a Toby Carvery. His hands were all over her like the old Empire and some of the acts they were committing were just as horrific. He plunged deep into her like a jousting event and felt her cold regal body rub against his hot black tribal like years of oppression. She was greedy for cock and Akabusi wasn't one to disappoint. He thought later that she might make a career as a sword swallower if this Queen sh*te didn't work out.

Within hours it was over, Kate lay a mangled mess of white flesh, medals, horse sh*t, cum and vol au vents. Akabusi pulled out of her like Hong Kong, letting his weeping willow of brown muscle to roll around in the hay. Akabusi was sure that his rampant manslush had reached the inner sanctum and he broke into a wide sh*t eating Akabusi grin as he thought of a brown baby being born to the royal household in nine months times. "Try explaining that you bitch!" he roared.

He could hear the constant banging of Tanni Grey Thompson somewhere in the Palace so he bent down over the sated, upper middle class spunk vessel, whisphered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

Akabusi sat in the bog reading Tanni Grey Thompson's autobiography - "Wheels on Fire". It was sh*t. Her sense of pace and character left a lot to be desired and her description of him as "a massive spade" had made him a little angry. The next time he saw her, and as sure as his ebony clunge buster was huge he would, he was going to slash her tyres and push her in a pond.

The ice cold porcelain of the toilet stung his toned arse like a party at Kevin Spacey's house. He'd been sitting here for about 20 minutes trying to push a brown baby's leg but to no avail. Akabusi had eaten too many Steak Bakes on the journey and had tried to show off to Roger Black by eating fifty six hard boiled eggs.

As the cold air crept into the lav like Paul Gadd into Mothercare it brushed against his proud black member as it hung over the bowl lapping at a bowl of water Akabusi had given it. He had gotten to the middle pages of Tanni's sh*t sandwich and had seen a picture of Judy Oakes in a latex body suit. The tightness of the fabric had pushed her humongous clit into the shape of a Chinese man size cock and balls. He could feel his heart quicken as it pumped blood into his rapidly engorging onyx Methuselah and gasped as it stood before him as powerful as a veiny, pulsating Dr King.

Almost immediately he felt his april tense and tear as an De Mille size richard slowly slipped out and dipped it's head into the cold water of the toilet. Anyone walking in at that moment would not only have a got a huge gush of spunk in their eye but thought they were looking at a giant brown X. Akabusi snapped the jumbo bum cigar half way and heard it scream as it thrashed around in the now decimated bog. He eased out it's identical twin and watched as they clung to the sides of the crapper as he ruthlessly pulled the flush. If he had been clever he would have snapped their necks and carved them into canoes and used them but he wasn't clever and he was f**king horny.

Kriss ripped Tanni Grey's book apart with his giant paving slab teeth and applied "My Troubled Childhood" and "My First Puncture" to his arse to mop up the remnants of his most recent and most tragic creations. He used the picture of Judy Oakes to wipe his weeping plonker as he pulled up his camo dungerees and left the demolished toilet and rejoin the camp.

Akabusi had been roped into by Black and John Regis to bring a bunch of primordial dwarves on an outward bound trip to the Brecon Beacons. He hated doing these charity gigs, someone always ended up dead or worse, but if it meant he got a knighthood it was worth putting up with a couple of window slurpers drooling on his medals and Record Breakers annuals.

The dwarves had been particularly annoying on the trip from Luton, their squeaking voices making his growling dodgepeice retract into his honed, carved from jet torso. Regis had been a c**t too, stopping every 33 miles for a horse p*ss in a Little Chef. John suffered terribly with incontinence and OCD and this was as much a trip for him as it was for the whining midgets.

Akabusi and Blackie had set up zip wire between some trees and the freaky smalls (and tragically Regis) were lapping it up like black girls on welfare. A momentary lapse of concentration by Roger had left two of the half bloods hanging like f**ked testicles over a footballer's wife's gaping cum filled mouth. Regis had ran the 317 steps and climbed the 26 rungs of the rope ladder to cut them free and let them fall to the hard concrete below. It was unlikely that they would be found for some months so the guys headed back to the log cabin for a Max Strength Lemsip and some bourbon biscuits.

On the way back as the huge moon hung in the darkening sky like Bella Emberg with a mastectomy Akabusi spied some of the others preparing for bed in another cabin. Two of the dwarves, who were actually 21, were changing into some plastic pajamas before slipping into their plastic covered beds. Akabusi couldn't draw any of his three bulging eyes away from the pint size honeys and he could feel his brown birch rise like a spunk filled Dracula from his dungeree encased coffin.

Tiny tits, tiny hands and tinny voices filled his head as he let slip the shackles of his denim dungs and let the cold Brecon air encircle his ebony opus as he climbed up the side of the cabin to get a better look.

"What the f**k are you doing Amberkusi?" a voice said behind him as his diamond rough cock pierced the cabin wall and left him hanging like a rusty nail. As he strained to look behind him he saw the mother of one of the itty bitty titty he had his greasy eye on.

He pulled himself down. Before him was a smoking hot blonde yank wearing a tight blue jumper which make her areola look a relief map of the Andes. He knew that beneath that Uniqlo cashmere top were a pair of epic bristols and packed in behind her faded denim jeans was an American clunge as an open and awe inspiring as the Grand Canyon at dawn.

"Where did you buy those little f**kers? I want one." roared Akabusi with a laugh as rich, fullbodied and dark as Oprah. He didn't wait for an answer and ripped the clothes from her back like a wrapper of a Quality Street. As he suspected she had a pair of cracking tits but with more stretch marks than Elton John's april. Her pussy was as hairless and threatening as a returning squaddie with Gulf War syndrome but he wanted in and he wanted in deep. f**king deep.

He leapt on her like Littlejohn on immigrants and tore into her glistening paper cut like Rik Waller at a hotel buffet breakfast. As the two mini milks looked on from the window at their mother being ravaged by a chocolate werewolf, Regis was busily counting Akabusi's deep, power tool thrusts.

Within hours and after 8067 thrusts according to Regis, Akabusi was sated and pulled out of the yanks sodden crevice like troops out of Kandahar. The yank midget maker lay twisted, soaking and mangled like an old flannel, seed dripping from every pore and her epic orgasm rendering all her bones as useless as a nun's clit. Akabusi leapt up, rolled up his brown persian shag and slipped on his camo dungs using the clunge suds on his fingers to wax down his mustache.

Regis told Akabusi that they had exactly 214 seconds before the police, the primordial dwarf protection team and a Channel 4 documentary team would be there. John ran off making sure to avoid the cracks in the patio slabs and got Black up from his Lemsip haze. They'd have to get out of her quick. They were going to head to Manchester where the gang were booked to be the star turn at the new Super Casino and Regis would be able to count cards.

Akabusi looked down on the pile of spunk, small hands, little chins, scotch eggs and p*ss and bent down over her, whisphered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

The End.