Akabusi sat in his Corsa in a layby on the A12 demolishing a king size Toffee Crisp like a heavyweight boxer fighting a spastic. He was pretty depressed. A personal sex tape he had made with his running mate Colin Stagg and a couple of Somalian girls in a Travellodge near Heathrow had leaked onto the internet and his performance had been less than Olympian.
To cheer himself up he decided to drive down to Canning Town and collect the rent from one of the 14,000 houses he owned in the area. Akabusi and Linford had been put onto the area by Lord Coe way before the Olympics were even mentioned and they were in line to make a killing. Akabusi kept a low profile but Christie had been seen walking around the streets dressed in ermine and putting his diamond encrusted lunchbox through letter boxes.
There was one cunt that owed him £20 in arrears and lived on the site of the future Richard Rogers designed Olympic Darts Village. Akabusi wanted to break ground on this site within six months because the foundations to hold these fat bastards had to go over 100 feet down.
He wiped off the chocolate crumbs from his "collecting rent" dungerees as he knocked on the door. He loved collecting money and pushing people around so even now his ebony one eyed titan was twitching like a sexy dying black man. When the door opened his mounting erection shrunk from the size of the large Krankie to the size of the weird woman/boy one.
There before him was a Muslim woman dressed from head to toe in a naqib. He could see nothing except a pair of eyes that looked like day old Maltesers in two small dishes of spunk. He knew that underneath the thick cloth lived an epic pair of creamy bristols and a clunge as untouched as Cliff Richard's cock. He wondered briefly what it would be like to fuck a jet black post box as he barged into the terrace property.
Akabusi pulled religious iconography from the walls and threw them into the fireplace, roaring with laughter like man possessed. Before long he let slip his dungerees and felt the damp, stale air of the crumbling property encirle his behemothic, onyx form like flies around shite. He looked across at the cowering woman in the corner - her eyes showed more fear than a Brazilian running for the Tube - and he felt his cock grow to vast proportions. The starless night of his pulsating hymen killer took his breath away and most of the blood in his body. His helmut was so hard he thought about patenting it and selling it to the army.
He stood in the room looking like a shiny charcoal crucifix with a one of the arms sawn off. He approached the woman. She needed no encouragement - she ripped off her naqib and revealed a pair of tits that men would travel miles to worship and have a tug under. Her pussy was covered in hair so black and dense Akabusi thought he was looking at Richard Blackwood as a child. She wore stockings and suspenders and a pair of 6 inch heels with a stilleto so long and sharp that Akabusi felt sure he could use it to clean out the munge in his battered Japs eye.
"Mr Abbakumi. I must insist if you are to take me, that you wear a condom, please, thank you" said the newly eroticised young woman. "fuck off, even if I could find a johnny big enough to encase this giant cock, my sperm are so vital they would chew through it and eat your eggs" cried Akabusi.
Before he knew he was up to his giant nuts in the girl who was taking to this fucking lark like a pig in shit. He smashed in more back and front doors he felt like S019. Within hours he spunked a road map to peace all over her back and rubbed it into the gentle down that covered it. As he stood over her, his cock now an empty shell and his balls hanging like punctured leather footballs, he felt he had made siginificant steps in bridging religious divides. And getting his knob wet.
"Thanks for the bunk up lady. But I Mustafa my rent by next week!" roared Kriss as he pulled on his dungerees and popped his cock into a special denim pocket his mum had sewn in for him. He pulled a gold statue of some god or something from the mantlepiece and pocketed it. "That'll do. For now".
He bent over the pile of spunk, formal Islamic clothing, minge hair and smashed icons and whisphered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.