Friday, 5 February 2010

BRECON BEACONS

Akabusi sat in the bog reading Tanni Grey Thompson's autobiography - "Wheels on Fire". It was shit. 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 shit 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 fucking 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 cunt too, stopping every 33 miles for a horse piss 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 fucked 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 fuck 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 fakers? 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. fucking 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 piless and bent down over her, whisphered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

The End.

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