I have to admit: *** looked pretty stupid strung up like that.
He was in the adjourning room, where Mom and I could see him through a one-way mirror. He remained unconscious and blindfolded. His clothes had been cut away, so that he dangled there nude, his pathetic little wiener and pale, pasty skin on display for all to see. He was suspended from the ceiling by his wrists, which were cuffed in leather restraints, his feet only just touching the floor. A ball gag had been place in his mouth. The sedative he'd been injected with must have been powerful as he had been out for some time now. *** hanged in the center of the room, several black leather sofas and chairs surrounding him. I smiled, noticing a drain on the floor by ***'s feet.
A little over an hour ago, we had all been enjoying our last breakfast as a ******: ***, Mom, Tyler, and me. You see, *** had agreed to sign Tyler's disposal consent form. My sixteen-year old brother had proclaimed that he wanted to be terminated at one of the new Disposal Centers that were springing up all over the country ever since they had been declared legal by the Supreme Court. Anyone of adult age or minors with parental consent could volunteer to be disposed of at one of these centers, but everyone knew that they were specifically intended for white boys. No blacks and few women ever opted for disposal, although rumor had it that the rate of Asian-American male disposals was trending upward dramatically as Asian women increasingly made their preference for black men as well known as so many white women already had. Including Mom and me.
So, today was meant to be Tyler's disposal day. Until, that is, Mom had a change of heart. You see: while *** was out trying to wrap his mind around that fact that his only son wanted to be disposed of and his ******** had been knocked up with a black baby and his wife appeared untroubled by either, I invited some of Tyler's high school bullies over to the house to sex up both Mom and me. His black bullies to be precise. The four of them fucked us for hours, filling all our holes with their potent African sperm. It was Mom's first time being blacked, and it really opened her eyes.
Not only did the black boys use Mom and me, they used Tyler for clean-up, having him slurp their thick, creamy semen from their spent cocks, as well as from our well-fucked pussies and assholes. A couple of them even had Tyler suck them off directly, filling his gullet with their cum. Tyler turned out to be a talented cocksucker, as well as unexpectedly submissive and compliant to his bullies’ instructions. It really opened Mom's eyes to see her son so willingly submit to the clear superiority of the black teens that had debased and supplanted him. After the boys left, she suggested to Tyler that he rethink his pending disposal, that he agree to accept his genetic inferiority as a white boy, and live as a household slave for the black men who were going to be sexing his mother and sister from now on, as well as a live-in nanny for the many black children we both hoped to bear (his own, superior brothers and sisters, nephews and nieces). Tyler's little dink hardened at the thought, and he agreed to consider it, although he whined that he had been looking forward to disposal for some time.
"Well," Mom offered slyly, "just because we find a different use for you, does not mean that we can't still have a disposal in the ******. Your loser of a father will never accept the New Order as completely as you and Julie do. It's really hard to justify keeping him around, don't you think?" I confess, I almost had an orgasm hearing Mom conspire to snuff *** like that.
"But, Mom," Tyler protested, "*** won't even consent to my disposal. He'll never agree to his own."
"Let me worry about that," Mom advised.
When he returned home later that night, ***, it turned out, had actually reconsidered his opinion about Tyler’s voluntary disposal after a visit to a nearby disposal center, and he even signed a consent form agreeing to have Tyler snuffed. Mom played along, telling *** how happy she was that he had rethought things. She went on to tell *** all about how Tariq and the other boys had spent the day fucking us, how it was the best sex she'd ever had, and how pathetic a lover he had always been. Mom told me later that *** cried as she filled him in on all the specifics of our debauchery, jerking his little dicklet at the same time. He kept stroking his little boy prick even after shooting his thin, watery semen into a tissue, begging for more details.
“Needless to say," she told him, laughing, "we didn't use any birth control. I would never make such young, virile boys wear a condom, and my diaphragm stayed in its drawer the whole time. I only hope that I'm knocked up with a black baby just like our little Julie." *** groaned, milking another few drops of weak whiteboy gruel from his abused dick.
The next morning, while *** slept, Mom and I went to the same Disposal Center that *** had visited the night before, and asked to speak with the disposal counselor who had witnessed the consent form *** had signed. Sasha was a tall, dark-skinned woman, with piercing eyes. She listened quietly as Mom explained that we hoped to substitute *** for Tyler, even if it was against his will.
“Well,” Sasha explained, linking her fingers under her chin, “we are a voluntary center. All disposals are understood to be the personal choice of the individual being terminated.” She grinned. “That, of course, is the ideal. The reality…well, that is somewhat…different. Many women—wives, mothers, *********—come to us with stories of recalcitrant whiteboys who refuse to consent or who change their minds. We help, let’s just say, expedite things, move them along. Forgeries, for example, are not unheard of. In Dan’s case, we could simply slip a codicil into the form that he already signed consenting to his own disposal.” Mom returned Sasha’s conspiratorial smile. I had grown moist with excitement at the thought of tricking *** into his own elimination. “The truth is,” Sasha explained, “nobody really looks too closely at white boy disposals. Now that so much of the political and criminal justice system is in the hands of black brothers and sisters, there is really no need. Every white disposal is viewed as furthering the cause of social justice, the end goal of which is the eradication of the debased white race.” She turned to me and nodded, “Just like every white womb blessed with a black baby is viewed as bringing us just that step nearer to the blessing of complete white extinction.”
Seeing how excited this line of discussion had made Mom and me, Sasha pressed a button on her desk intercom and said, “Would you ask Naheim to step into my office.” Pushing her chair back from the desk, the black woman spread her legs and raised her skirt. She motioned to me. “Get on your knees, white girl, and suck on my black pussy.” Even five months pregnant, I did not hesitate to drop to my knees and crawl between this hot African goddess’s legs, burying my face in her snatch. I heard Mom gasp in surprise behind me as I tongued Sasha’s smooth shaven snatch. She was ******* that I had learned from the black sororities at school that accepting black superiority went beyond being sexually submissive to only black men.
“We’re going to dispose of your loser of a whiteboy father, bitch,” Sasha said, putting her hands on the back of my head, forcing me to suck harder at her cunt. “Show your gratitude!”
I heard the office door open, and glanced over to see a hard-muscled black god enter the room. He was bearded, with a shaved head, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt that displayed his corded arms and massive pecs. Those muscular arms were heavily decorated with tribal tattoos. “Naheim,” Sasha told us, “is one of our most dedicated disposal agents. I have him in mind for ridding you of your husband. He has literally hundreds of whiteboy disposals to his credit. Naheim: Kate here has gotten a bit excited discussing her wimpy husband’s impending demise. Would you do her the courtesy of fucking the holy shit out of her suburban, middle class, white cunt?”
Naheim grasped a fistful of Mom’s hair, pulling her to her feet. “The only thing that turns me on more than offing whiteboys,” he explained, “is knocking up the white bitches of the losers I kill. Are you on birth control, slut?”
“No…no, sir, I’m not,” Mom assured him. “And it would be an honor to be bred by a real man, especially if that man is the one who is going to dispose of my waste of a husband.” Turning her around, Naheim pushed Mom up against the desk and yanked off her skirt. Mom had taken my advice and not worn any underwear, keeping her snatch available to any and all prospective black men, just as I had suggested. Naheim lowered the fly of his jeans and fished out his black cock. It was about 9 inches in length, and massively thick, with a cockhead about as round as my fist. Sasha pushed my face back into her juicy cunt just as Naheim penetrated Mom’s pussy from behind with the head of his monster cock, eliciting a sharp yelp. Imagining Mom’s elation as she accommodated Naheim’s thickness, I licked and nibbled at Sasha’s distended clitoris. The dominant black woman wrapped her legs around my back, pulling me firmly to her groin.
As Naheim’s balls began slapping against Mom’s ass, he teased her. “Think about me disposing of your faggot white husband while I fuck you bitch,” he told her. “Think about how you want me to snuff him. I love lynching white losers,” he said with a grunt. “But I also have a machete that I bought while I was in Angola just for those women who want to see their whiteboys hacked to pieces. I have two pairs of brass knuckles that a client bought me to beat her husband to death. Those are always fun. Some bitches like to have me wrap my big strong black hands around a white loser’s throat and slowly, very slowly, choke the life out of him. Some--especially the mothers--like to watch me **** their kid’s pink, virgin assholes as I beat them to death with my superior black fists. Then there’s always a quick bullet to the brain from my personal whiteboy-snuffing Glock. The choice is yours, race traitor, the end result is always the same: One. Less. White. Boy. In the world.”
Mom was panting like an animal as she listened to Naheim’s rant. I frigged my clit wildly at the thought of this black stud snuffing ***. “As a full-service agency,” Sasha explained, “we provide both the disposal agent as well as any sexual gratification for those women who opt to observe the disposal of their whiteboys. The disposal is complimentary, since ridding the world of whiteboys is regarded as a service to the community. Sexual service can be provided during the disposal, of course, although it incurs a nominal fee. If it results in a pregnancy, the fee may be refunded. You can also opt to bring your own guests and sexual partners to any disposal.” Her tone remained completely professional even as she gushed an orgasm into my mouth, flooding my throat with her pussy juices.
My face plastered with Sasha's juices, I looked up at Mom. She was sprawled across Sasha's desktop, her mouth agape and her eyes rolled back. She was clearly in the middle of a powerful orgasm. Naheim towered over her, pummeling her from behind. "I just love fuckin' you white bitches," he sneered. "You always so grateful for a real man's cock after fuckin' nothin' but puny, little whiteboys your whole life!" He grabbed Mom by her thick, auburn hair and raised her head off the desk. He pressed his lips against her ear, and said, "I'm goin' to have a real good time offin' your loser of a husband, bitch," he whispered. "Make you beg for me to snuff him in front of you and your white kids, the ones you should have ‘borted rather than pollute the gene pool."
"Y-e-e-ssss," Mom hissed. "I want to you to kill him! I want to watch you do it while I get fucked by my son's black bullies! I want you to kill him while I get knocked up with a black baby!" With the promise of an impending disposal, Naheim emptied his balls deep in Mom's snatch, flooding her cunt with his African baby batter.
"How do you want me to do it, bitch? How do you want me to off that whiteboy waste of a husband of yours?"
Mom glanced at me, then turned her head to look up at Raheim. "Do you, uh, have those brass knuckles that you mentioned handy?" she asked. Raheim grinned, Sasha and I both laughed at the promise of ***'s brutal disposal.
After our ****** breakfast the following Saturday morning, Mom and I got all dressed up for the Disposal Center. Mom wore a little black dress, low cut to reveal her cleavage, ending just below her hips. She wore no panties, leaving her pussy completely available. I wore a red dress, strapless and tight. We both wore heels. *** and Tyler dressed more casually, although, unknown to ***, Tyler wore a pair of Mom’s pink frilly panties under his jeans and a red teddy beneath his t-shirt. *** drove in silence, while Tyler and I barely contained our giddiness in the backseat. We discussed possible names for the black child I carried in my womb. I told Tyler that I kind of liked the name Naheim for a boy.
Sasha greeted us in the lobby of the Disposal Center. “Tyler,” she smiled, “so nice to meet you. Today’s a big day, hmm?” Tyler took her hand. “Yes,” he assured her with a knowing grin, “I can hardly wait.”
In her office, Sasha presented Mom and *** with some more paperwork. “Just formality stuff, really,” she assured them. “Initial here and here, and date it here.” She held out a pen.
*** looked at the complicated legal forms. “Well, I mean, I really should read…”
Mom sighed. “Oh, Dan,” she said, “stop stalling. This is what Tyler wants. It’s what it we all want. Just sign the damn papers! Here,” she snapped, grabbing them and scribbling her name on the bottom.
“O-okay,” *** stuttered. He picked up the pen, and signed his name. Just then, Naheim silently entered the office behind ***, and plunged a syringe in his neck. “Ow!” *** shouted, standing and turning to face the tall, musclebound black man. “Who the hell…whoa…what…?” *** reached for the back of the chair to steady himself, missed, and fell flat on his face. Naheim towered over the helpless whiteboy who had just crashed at his feet. Sasha stood. “Well,” she observed, “that all went smoothly. Ladies, Naheim will show you to the disposal room and prepare Dan for his…retirement. Tyler, you can follow me upstairs, where I can get you set up.”
Naheim walked back into the room where he and an assistant had strung *** from the ceiling, cut away his clothes, blindfolded and gagged him. Mom and I continued to watch through the two-way mirror. Naheim held a bottle of what I assumed were something like smelling salts under ***’s nose, causing *** to cough and gag, shake his head, as he regained consciousness. He tried to speak through the ball gag, but all that could be heard were confused mumbles. He struggled against his bonds, twisting and turning to no avail. Mom and I exchanged glances of satisfaction.
Standing right in front of him, Naheim removed the blindfold from ***’s eyes. As *** adjusted to the light, he saw the grinning black man standing before him and pulled away, panicked. “Hi, whiteboy,” Naheim said. “Welcome to your disposal.” With that, he opened the door to the waiting room and ushered Mom and me to join him. We moved to either side of Naheim; he wrapped his thickly muscled, tattooed arms around us, pulling each of close as we stood in front of my helpless father. The black stud bent his head to press his lips against Mom’s, invading her mouth with his tongue. After a few moments of sloppy, wet kissing, he did the same to me. *** moaned and struggled uselessly against his restraints. “Some fine bitches you got here, whiteboy,” Naheim addressed ***. “Way too good for a wimp like you. I’m going to enjoy putting on a show for them.”
Just then Sasha entered the room, accompanied by Tariq, D’Shawn, Jarrod, and Andre, my brother’s high school bullies. They were variously dressed in basketball shorts, low-hung jeans, tank tops, and sports tees. “Your guests have arrived,” Sasha said.
“This is sick,” Tariq said. “Ain’t never been in one of these disposal set-ups before.” He grabbed my ass from behind and pressed his lips to the back of my neck. “Good to see you again, white girl.” He appraised my distraught father, naked and pasty and helpless. “So, this is your Old Man, huh, the star attraction?” D’Shawn, meanwhile, pulled Mom away from Naheim and into his strong arms. They kissed, as her hands roamed over his athletic, dark brown body. Jarrod and Andre, grinning with anticipation, sprawled on the easy chairs on either side of where *** dangled. Tariq and D’Shawn plopped down on the sofa directly across from ***, pulling me and Mom beside them.
Heading for the door, Sasha said, “Anytime you’re ready, Naheim. Cameras are rolling.” Once she exited, the room suddenly filled with the heavy beat of rap music.
“We are Original Man, the Asiatic Black Man,
The Maker, the Owner, the Cream of the Planet Earth,
Father of Civilization, and ******** of the Universe!”
Naheim circled ***’s swaying body, tossing a couple of light punches at ***’s torso and backside. *** tried to wriggle away, but with his toes barely touching the floor, he had very little control. He locked eyes with Mom, and mumbled something through his gag.
“What’s that, Dan, honey,” Mom giggled mischievously, her hand openly massaging D’Shawn’s crotch. “I can’t understand you. You have a thing in your mouth.”
I turned to Mom. “Oh, you know what, I think he’s complaining that he never consented to this.”
“But you did,” Mom said. “Don’t you remember? You signed the consent form in the office when we arrived. And I’m so happy you did, Dan. We’ll all be much happier when you’re gone.”
Raheim’s fist connected with ***’s jaw, a loud crack heard even above the music. The boys all cheered, Mom said, “Ooo! Nice one!” I simply smiled, lowering my mouth to Tariq’s bulging crotch.
“I’m Black, I’m proud,
I’m ready and hyped, plus I’m amped,
Most of my heroes don’t appear on stamps,
Sample a look back you look and find
Nothing but rednecks for 400 years if you check!”
As Naheim continued to circle ***, he tossed the occasional punch, some love taps, some firmer blows, but nothing yet that did serious damage. Like any predator with his prey, he was toying with ***. He flexed his massive body, veins rippling down his tattooed arms, his thick chest and abdominals bulging with power. “Know why I work this body so hard, whiteboy,” he asked, his face just inches from ***’s. “To turn it into a weapon, the better to snuff white losers like you.” He drove his fist into ***’s unprotected gut. “Nothing, but nothing gets me off more than disposing of whiteboys!”
Hearing that, Jarrod leaped from his chair. “I want to take a turn,” he said. “Can I, huh? Can I hit ‘im?” His friends cheered him on. Naheim explained, “You’re not licensed, so I can’t let you dispose of him, but sure, you can hit him. Go ahead! Make it count!” Jarrod raised a fist to ***’s face, rubbing his knuckles against ***’s cheek. Pulling his arm back, the black teen drove his fist right into ***’s nose with a satisfying crunch. *** sputtered and spit as the gag was knocked from his mouth. Blood poured from his broken nose. “P-p-please,” he begged, “I don’t, I want…” Before he could say another word, Naheim drove a fist into ***’s diaphragm, cutting of his air. *** struggled to breath.
As we enjoyed the show, Mom and I had each lowered Tariq and D’Shawn’s basketball shorts and raised our dresses. We stood and mounted them in reverse cowgirl position in order to continue watching ***’s beating. I welcomed Tariq’s thick, black, teenage cock in my pussy, dripping wildly at the sight of my father’s brutal abuse. Tariq’s hands roamed over my pregnant belly and my bloated tits from behind as he thrust deep into my cunt. “That’s right, baby momma,” he said, “ride that black beast.”
Andre had stood to join Naheim and Jarrod, his fists pummeling ***’s pale belly. Jarrod stepped close to ***, and kneed him in the groin. *** cried out in pain. “This is exactly what white losers like you deserve,” Jarrod sneered at him. “Fuck, I wish I could be the one to waste you!”
“Well,” Naheim explained, “the courts are working on legislation that would make killing whiteboys a misdemeanor, kind of like shoplifting or littering. You’d probably just get a ticket, if that. Once that passes, you can waste all the whiteboys you want, bro, you won’t even need to be licensed.” The boys all laughed and cheered. “I cannot fuckin’ wait,” said Jarrod. “I could kill a whiteboy every night and not ever get tired of it.”
Just then the door to the disposal room opened and Tyler joined us. He wore only the undergarments Mom had given him, her lace panties and teddy. He stood transfixed at the sight of ***’s suspended, bruised, bloody body. “Oh, good,” he said, relieved that *** was still breathing. “I was afraid I missed it.”
“How’d it go, loser?” I asked.
He looked at me sitting astride Tariq’s thick fuck sausage. “Oh, okay,” he said. “Still a little numb. The doctor used a local anesthetic. She said that they sometimes do it without any, but that she liked me and wanted me to be able enjoy ***’s disposal.” Tyler lowered his panties, revealing that where testicles had once dangled below his small, white penis, now there was only a series of stitches. Even without balls, however, I noticed that his tiny dicklet had become erect with blood at the sight of ***’s plight.
“Wo-hoo!” Tariq cheered. “You had the shitstain neutered! Hella sick! How’s it feel, whiteboy, to have nothing left between yo’ legs but that lil clit o’ yours?”
Tyler pulled his panties back up over his erect dink. “It’s an honor, sir,” he answered. “I’m relieved that I’ll never be able to pollute the world with white parasites. I want to serve the New World Order, the Black World Order.”
Andre grabbed my brother by his curly blonde hair and forced him to his knees. “Well, you can start, girl,” Andre said, fishing his own baby maker out of low sagging jeans, “by suckin’ on my hard, Mandingo beef while we off your ***.” Tyler eagerly wrapped his lips around Andre’s long, dark brown African cock, slurping it deep to the back of his throat. My cocksucking brother seemed to have no gag reflex at all, the perfect faggot. Jarrod stood next to Andre and began beating my brother about the face with his own fat cock. Our ***’s eyes widened in dismay as he witnessed his own newly castrated son enthusiastically gobble on two enormous, black, teen cocks.
Naheim, meanwhile, pulled a pair of gold-colored brass knuckles out of his pocket and fitted them to his powerful fists. “Now that everybody’s here,” he grinned, “we can get on with the show.”
“Motherfuckers halt, when my Colt start stompin’,
Thunder strikes your land with a jolt,
Your stamina level is low like currents from
The volts of relentless punishment that multiplies
At a speed the naked eye can’t die-tect…”
Naheim proceeded to pummel *** with a series of body blows, no longer toying with him. He circled ***’s body, slamming his metal-adorned fists into ***’s ribcage, his abdomen, his lower back, his chest, his jaw, his already broken nose, his eyes. The white skin itself seemed to be an affront to the powerful black man. He was brutal and relentless; it was a thing of beauty to watch a powerful black god like Naheim violently strip a white man of all his assumed privilege. My Black Studies professors had taught me to view white disposal as a catharsis for centuries of white abuse of the black body, black autonomy. ***’s abuse was that, but it was so much more, I realized, as I came again and again on Tariq’s piledriving cock. This was not a movement of racial harmony or equality: there could be no equality between black kings and their white oppressors. There could only be justice, and that justice was being delivered everywhere by the fists of gods like Naheim. The fists, the guns, the knives, the cocks, all the weapons that ensured a white-free future. I was never more honored to be given the privilege of carrying a black king in my debased womb.
I could not possibly know what was going through the minds of the young black gods that were fucking me, my mother, and my brother as we all watched ***’s disposal, but I could tell it was powerful as they fucked with an unprecedented fervor.
Naheim stepped aside so we could view the damage he'd wrought. He was like an artist displaying his work, ***'s bruised and bloody face his canvas. He launched into a volley of punches, this time all of them centered on ***'s face, teeth flying freely from ***'s mouth. By the time he relented, ***'s face look less like the man I had known and more like hamburger, red, moist ground beef. His eyes were swollen shut, anything recognizable as a nose simply gone, his lips bloated and torn, his hair matted with blood. Raspy groans escaped the thing that had once been a mouth. Blood dripped off ***'s face in long, thick strands, pooling at his feet, oozing down the drain. Raheim's brass knuckles were coated with blood, and a rich, red spray decorated his bare torso and his handsome face. His display of power was intoxicating, both to himself and his audience.
"Whiteboy ain't gonna last much longer," D'Shawn said, with a low, admiring whistle, his cock buried deep in Mom’s snatch.
Mom's eyes were locked on what had once been ***'s face. "Oh, Dan," she said with open contempt, grinding against D'Shawn's black cock, "you're just so weak and pathetic, not a real man at all. But some good will come out of your disposal: your life insurance will help Julie and me care for the beautiful black babies we're going to bring into this world. Isn't that wonderful?"
“You hate me, don’t you?
You hate my people, your plan is to terminate my culture!
You’re fuckin’ evil, I want you to recognize that I’m a proud monkey!
You vandalize my perception, but can’t take style from me,
And this is more than confession!”
Tariq was fucking me harder than I had ever been fucked, while my baby sloshed around inside my womb. Tyler sucked both Jarrod and Andre vigorously, moving his cocksucking mouth from one massive black cock to the other. Even without testicles, my brother stroked his little cocklet through his lace panties, almost as if what was left of his dick were really a clit.
Naheim resumed the beating, beginning to dance around *** like a boxer, tossing punch after punch at the meat sack that hung in the middle of the room. The boys hooted and cheered, while Mom and I groaned in pleasure. We knew that the abuse *** was enduring was being videotaped for us to enjoy over and over again. Mom had already authorized its duplication to be used both for disposal advertising and for sale as a snuff film. She would get a small percentage of any revenue it brought in, meaning *** would continue to contribute financially to the ****** even after he was long gone.
Naheim paused behind ***'s suspended body. He removed the heavy brass knuckles. He cupped one bloody hand under the mess that had been ***'s jaw, covering ***'s forehead with the other. He looked directly at Mom. "You ready for me waste your whiteboy, you little race traitor?"
"Do it, dawg!" the black teens cheered. "Fuckin' off the loser! Snuff 'im!"
Mom skewered herself deeply on D'Shawn's cum-engorged dick, cumming wildly. "Do it!" she hissed through clenched teeth. "Kill my waste of a husband! Kill that white bastard! Make me a widow!"
With a sudden, forceful twist of his powerful hands, Naheim snapped ***'s neck like a dry twig. The well-beaten body convulsed briefly, then hung still. With one less white loser in the world, Mom and I came hard just as Tariq and D'Shawn spewed their superior baby batter deep into our pussies. Andre and Jarrod spackled my brother's faggot face liberally with their thick jizz. Naheim fished his bottle-thick cock out of his jeans, threw back his head, and with a few quick strokes sprayed his DNA all over ***'s corpse. It was as though he were signing his masterpiece. Still impaled on D’Shawn’s fat meat, Mom slipped off her wedding ring and tossed it into the blood-filled drain at ***’s feet. “I won’t be needing that anymore,” she sighed contentedly.
Sasha had provided Mom with a number of choices for the final disposition of ***'s remains. Among the options was donating the meat to a dog food company. Mom chose wisely. Sasha assured us that ***'s final journey through the meat grinder would be videotaped and included in the final cut of his disposal video. It was, and provided our ****** with a good laugh and endless pleasure.
Epilogue
About a dozen years later, Tyler finally followed *** through that grinder. Between us, Mom and I had given birth to eight black children. Tyler had been a reliable, dedicated caregiver for them, as well as an occasional sex slave to our various black lovers and baby daddies. Although as a whiteboy, Tyler was not permitted to discipline black children, he sometimes forgot himself and tried to set boundaries with the kids. On one such occasion, my oldest son, twelve year old Naheim, had had enough, and shot his Uncle Tyler in the head with his Glock .38. As young Naheim’s namesake had predicted years earlier, the killing of whiteboys was regarded with less severity than a minor traffic violation, and Naheim received nothing more than a lukewarm reprimand from his grandmother, for the inconvenience more than anything else. Killing his uncle, in fact, had made Naheim something of a hero with his brothers and sisters, to say nothing of the other children at school. Tyler’s remains, like those of our father so many years ago, were donated as dog food.
Mom wanted a replacement whiteboy for Tyler, as eight children were a handful and she and I were both still dedicated to providing more black babies for the New World Order, which naturally took up a great deal of our time. Now middle-aged, Mom had, in fact, decided it was necessary to start fertility treatments, and found herself pregnant with twins. Replacing Tyler was proving problematic, however, as there were so few whiteboys left in the country, and most of those remaining were already owned by black families. Europe, however, which had been largely taken over by Arabic and African Muslims, sometimes sold whiteboys on the open market. As a white ******, we were not legally eligible to purchase any Euro-whiteboys, but Sasha helped us out.
We had stayed in contact with Sasha, watching as she became a powerful political figure in the state legislature. She pulled some strings and obtained an eighteen year old Swedish whiteboy named Stefan to replace Tyler. The whole ****** had a good time neutering the new whiteboy. Instead of the kind of surgical castration that had been performed on Tyler, Mom bought a home banding kit, similar to the kind used on livestock (which, to be honest, is kind of what Stefan was). Naheim and the other children used the elastrator to band the whiteboy’s testicles. After about a week, his scrotum dried up and simply dropped off. The children kept the small olive-sized nuts and a pickle jar which they brought to show ‘n’ tell at school.
Mom and I could only hope that little Naheim wouldn’t snuff this one. At least not for a while.
*Rap lyrics courtesy of Wu-Tang Clan, Public Enemy, and Kendrick Lamar.
He was in the adjourning room, where Mom and I could see him through a one-way mirror. He remained unconscious and blindfolded. His clothes had been cut away, so that he dangled there nude, his pathetic little wiener and pale, pasty skin on display for all to see. He was suspended from the ceiling by his wrists, which were cuffed in leather restraints, his feet only just touching the floor. A ball gag had been place in his mouth. The sedative he'd been injected with must have been powerful as he had been out for some time now. *** hanged in the center of the room, several black leather sofas and chairs surrounding him. I smiled, noticing a drain on the floor by ***'s feet.
A little over an hour ago, we had all been enjoying our last breakfast as a ******: ***, Mom, Tyler, and me. You see, *** had agreed to sign Tyler's disposal consent form. My sixteen-year old brother had proclaimed that he wanted to be terminated at one of the new Disposal Centers that were springing up all over the country ever since they had been declared legal by the Supreme Court. Anyone of adult age or minors with parental consent could volunteer to be disposed of at one of these centers, but everyone knew that they were specifically intended for white boys. No blacks and few women ever opted for disposal, although rumor had it that the rate of Asian-American male disposals was trending upward dramatically as Asian women increasingly made their preference for black men as well known as so many white women already had. Including Mom and me.
So, today was meant to be Tyler's disposal day. Until, that is, Mom had a change of heart. You see: while *** was out trying to wrap his mind around that fact that his only son wanted to be disposed of and his ******** had been knocked up with a black baby and his wife appeared untroubled by either, I invited some of Tyler's high school bullies over to the house to sex up both Mom and me. His black bullies to be precise. The four of them fucked us for hours, filling all our holes with their potent African sperm. It was Mom's first time being blacked, and it really opened her eyes.
Not only did the black boys use Mom and me, they used Tyler for clean-up, having him slurp their thick, creamy semen from their spent cocks, as well as from our well-fucked pussies and assholes. A couple of them even had Tyler suck them off directly, filling his gullet with their cum. Tyler turned out to be a talented cocksucker, as well as unexpectedly submissive and compliant to his bullies’ instructions. It really opened Mom's eyes to see her son so willingly submit to the clear superiority of the black teens that had debased and supplanted him. After the boys left, she suggested to Tyler that he rethink his pending disposal, that he agree to accept his genetic inferiority as a white boy, and live as a household slave for the black men who were going to be sexing his mother and sister from now on, as well as a live-in nanny for the many black children we both hoped to bear (his own, superior brothers and sisters, nephews and nieces). Tyler's little dink hardened at the thought, and he agreed to consider it, although he whined that he had been looking forward to disposal for some time.
"Well," Mom offered slyly, "just because we find a different use for you, does not mean that we can't still have a disposal in the ******. Your loser of a father will never accept the New Order as completely as you and Julie do. It's really hard to justify keeping him around, don't you think?" I confess, I almost had an orgasm hearing Mom conspire to snuff *** like that.
"But, Mom," Tyler protested, "*** won't even consent to my disposal. He'll never agree to his own."
"Let me worry about that," Mom advised.
When he returned home later that night, ***, it turned out, had actually reconsidered his opinion about Tyler’s voluntary disposal after a visit to a nearby disposal center, and he even signed a consent form agreeing to have Tyler snuffed. Mom played along, telling *** how happy she was that he had rethought things. She went on to tell *** all about how Tariq and the other boys had spent the day fucking us, how it was the best sex she'd ever had, and how pathetic a lover he had always been. Mom told me later that *** cried as she filled him in on all the specifics of our debauchery, jerking his little dicklet at the same time. He kept stroking his little boy prick even after shooting his thin, watery semen into a tissue, begging for more details.
“Needless to say," she told him, laughing, "we didn't use any birth control. I would never make such young, virile boys wear a condom, and my diaphragm stayed in its drawer the whole time. I only hope that I'm knocked up with a black baby just like our little Julie." *** groaned, milking another few drops of weak whiteboy gruel from his abused dick.
The next morning, while *** slept, Mom and I went to the same Disposal Center that *** had visited the night before, and asked to speak with the disposal counselor who had witnessed the consent form *** had signed. Sasha was a tall, dark-skinned woman, with piercing eyes. She listened quietly as Mom explained that we hoped to substitute *** for Tyler, even if it was against his will.
“Well,” Sasha explained, linking her fingers under her chin, “we are a voluntary center. All disposals are understood to be the personal choice of the individual being terminated.” She grinned. “That, of course, is the ideal. The reality…well, that is somewhat…different. Many women—wives, mothers, *********—come to us with stories of recalcitrant whiteboys who refuse to consent or who change their minds. We help, let’s just say, expedite things, move them along. Forgeries, for example, are not unheard of. In Dan’s case, we could simply slip a codicil into the form that he already signed consenting to his own disposal.” Mom returned Sasha’s conspiratorial smile. I had grown moist with excitement at the thought of tricking *** into his own elimination. “The truth is,” Sasha explained, “nobody really looks too closely at white boy disposals. Now that so much of the political and criminal justice system is in the hands of black brothers and sisters, there is really no need. Every white disposal is viewed as furthering the cause of social justice, the end goal of which is the eradication of the debased white race.” She turned to me and nodded, “Just like every white womb blessed with a black baby is viewed as bringing us just that step nearer to the blessing of complete white extinction.”
Seeing how excited this line of discussion had made Mom and me, Sasha pressed a button on her desk intercom and said, “Would you ask Naheim to step into my office.” Pushing her chair back from the desk, the black woman spread her legs and raised her skirt. She motioned to me. “Get on your knees, white girl, and suck on my black pussy.” Even five months pregnant, I did not hesitate to drop to my knees and crawl between this hot African goddess’s legs, burying my face in her snatch. I heard Mom gasp in surprise behind me as I tongued Sasha’s smooth shaven snatch. She was ******* that I had learned from the black sororities at school that accepting black superiority went beyond being sexually submissive to only black men.
“We’re going to dispose of your loser of a whiteboy father, bitch,” Sasha said, putting her hands on the back of my head, forcing me to suck harder at her cunt. “Show your gratitude!”
I heard the office door open, and glanced over to see a hard-muscled black god enter the room. He was bearded, with a shaved head, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt that displayed his corded arms and massive pecs. Those muscular arms were heavily decorated with tribal tattoos. “Naheim,” Sasha told us, “is one of our most dedicated disposal agents. I have him in mind for ridding you of your husband. He has literally hundreds of whiteboy disposals to his credit. Naheim: Kate here has gotten a bit excited discussing her wimpy husband’s impending demise. Would you do her the courtesy of fucking the holy shit out of her suburban, middle class, white cunt?”
Naheim grasped a fistful of Mom’s hair, pulling her to her feet. “The only thing that turns me on more than offing whiteboys,” he explained, “is knocking up the white bitches of the losers I kill. Are you on birth control, slut?”
“No…no, sir, I’m not,” Mom assured him. “And it would be an honor to be bred by a real man, especially if that man is the one who is going to dispose of my waste of a husband.” Turning her around, Naheim pushed Mom up against the desk and yanked off her skirt. Mom had taken my advice and not worn any underwear, keeping her snatch available to any and all prospective black men, just as I had suggested. Naheim lowered the fly of his jeans and fished out his black cock. It was about 9 inches in length, and massively thick, with a cockhead about as round as my fist. Sasha pushed my face back into her juicy cunt just as Naheim penetrated Mom’s pussy from behind with the head of his monster cock, eliciting a sharp yelp. Imagining Mom’s elation as she accommodated Naheim’s thickness, I licked and nibbled at Sasha’s distended clitoris. The dominant black woman wrapped her legs around my back, pulling me firmly to her groin.
As Naheim’s balls began slapping against Mom’s ass, he teased her. “Think about me disposing of your faggot white husband while I fuck you bitch,” he told her. “Think about how you want me to snuff him. I love lynching white losers,” he said with a grunt. “But I also have a machete that I bought while I was in Angola just for those women who want to see their whiteboys hacked to pieces. I have two pairs of brass knuckles that a client bought me to beat her husband to death. Those are always fun. Some bitches like to have me wrap my big strong black hands around a white loser’s throat and slowly, very slowly, choke the life out of him. Some--especially the mothers--like to watch me **** their kid’s pink, virgin assholes as I beat them to death with my superior black fists. Then there’s always a quick bullet to the brain from my personal whiteboy-snuffing Glock. The choice is yours, race traitor, the end result is always the same: One. Less. White. Boy. In the world.”
Mom was panting like an animal as she listened to Naheim’s rant. I frigged my clit wildly at the thought of this black stud snuffing ***. “As a full-service agency,” Sasha explained, “we provide both the disposal agent as well as any sexual gratification for those women who opt to observe the disposal of their whiteboys. The disposal is complimentary, since ridding the world of whiteboys is regarded as a service to the community. Sexual service can be provided during the disposal, of course, although it incurs a nominal fee. If it results in a pregnancy, the fee may be refunded. You can also opt to bring your own guests and sexual partners to any disposal.” Her tone remained completely professional even as she gushed an orgasm into my mouth, flooding my throat with her pussy juices.
My face plastered with Sasha's juices, I looked up at Mom. She was sprawled across Sasha's desktop, her mouth agape and her eyes rolled back. She was clearly in the middle of a powerful orgasm. Naheim towered over her, pummeling her from behind. "I just love fuckin' you white bitches," he sneered. "You always so grateful for a real man's cock after fuckin' nothin' but puny, little whiteboys your whole life!" He grabbed Mom by her thick, auburn hair and raised her head off the desk. He pressed his lips against her ear, and said, "I'm goin' to have a real good time offin' your loser of a husband, bitch," he whispered. "Make you beg for me to snuff him in front of you and your white kids, the ones you should have ‘borted rather than pollute the gene pool."
"Y-e-e-ssss," Mom hissed. "I want to you to kill him! I want to watch you do it while I get fucked by my son's black bullies! I want you to kill him while I get knocked up with a black baby!" With the promise of an impending disposal, Naheim emptied his balls deep in Mom's snatch, flooding her cunt with his African baby batter.
"How do you want me to do it, bitch? How do you want me to off that whiteboy waste of a husband of yours?"
Mom glanced at me, then turned her head to look up at Raheim. "Do you, uh, have those brass knuckles that you mentioned handy?" she asked. Raheim grinned, Sasha and I both laughed at the promise of ***'s brutal disposal.
After our ****** breakfast the following Saturday morning, Mom and I got all dressed up for the Disposal Center. Mom wore a little black dress, low cut to reveal her cleavage, ending just below her hips. She wore no panties, leaving her pussy completely available. I wore a red dress, strapless and tight. We both wore heels. *** and Tyler dressed more casually, although, unknown to ***, Tyler wore a pair of Mom’s pink frilly panties under his jeans and a red teddy beneath his t-shirt. *** drove in silence, while Tyler and I barely contained our giddiness in the backseat. We discussed possible names for the black child I carried in my womb. I told Tyler that I kind of liked the name Naheim for a boy.
Sasha greeted us in the lobby of the Disposal Center. “Tyler,” she smiled, “so nice to meet you. Today’s a big day, hmm?” Tyler took her hand. “Yes,” he assured her with a knowing grin, “I can hardly wait.”
In her office, Sasha presented Mom and *** with some more paperwork. “Just formality stuff, really,” she assured them. “Initial here and here, and date it here.” She held out a pen.
*** looked at the complicated legal forms. “Well, I mean, I really should read…”
Mom sighed. “Oh, Dan,” she said, “stop stalling. This is what Tyler wants. It’s what it we all want. Just sign the damn papers! Here,” she snapped, grabbing them and scribbling her name on the bottom.
“O-okay,” *** stuttered. He picked up the pen, and signed his name. Just then, Naheim silently entered the office behind ***, and plunged a syringe in his neck. “Ow!” *** shouted, standing and turning to face the tall, musclebound black man. “Who the hell…whoa…what…?” *** reached for the back of the chair to steady himself, missed, and fell flat on his face. Naheim towered over the helpless whiteboy who had just crashed at his feet. Sasha stood. “Well,” she observed, “that all went smoothly. Ladies, Naheim will show you to the disposal room and prepare Dan for his…retirement. Tyler, you can follow me upstairs, where I can get you set up.”
Naheim walked back into the room where he and an assistant had strung *** from the ceiling, cut away his clothes, blindfolded and gagged him. Mom and I continued to watch through the two-way mirror. Naheim held a bottle of what I assumed were something like smelling salts under ***’s nose, causing *** to cough and gag, shake his head, as he regained consciousness. He tried to speak through the ball gag, but all that could be heard were confused mumbles. He struggled against his bonds, twisting and turning to no avail. Mom and I exchanged glances of satisfaction.
Standing right in front of him, Naheim removed the blindfold from ***’s eyes. As *** adjusted to the light, he saw the grinning black man standing before him and pulled away, panicked. “Hi, whiteboy,” Naheim said. “Welcome to your disposal.” With that, he opened the door to the waiting room and ushered Mom and me to join him. We moved to either side of Naheim; he wrapped his thickly muscled, tattooed arms around us, pulling each of close as we stood in front of my helpless father. The black stud bent his head to press his lips against Mom’s, invading her mouth with his tongue. After a few moments of sloppy, wet kissing, he did the same to me. *** moaned and struggled uselessly against his restraints. “Some fine bitches you got here, whiteboy,” Naheim addressed ***. “Way too good for a wimp like you. I’m going to enjoy putting on a show for them.”
Just then Sasha entered the room, accompanied by Tariq, D’Shawn, Jarrod, and Andre, my brother’s high school bullies. They were variously dressed in basketball shorts, low-hung jeans, tank tops, and sports tees. “Your guests have arrived,” Sasha said.
“This is sick,” Tariq said. “Ain’t never been in one of these disposal set-ups before.” He grabbed my ass from behind and pressed his lips to the back of my neck. “Good to see you again, white girl.” He appraised my distraught father, naked and pasty and helpless. “So, this is your Old Man, huh, the star attraction?” D’Shawn, meanwhile, pulled Mom away from Naheim and into his strong arms. They kissed, as her hands roamed over his athletic, dark brown body. Jarrod and Andre, grinning with anticipation, sprawled on the easy chairs on either side of where *** dangled. Tariq and D’Shawn plopped down on the sofa directly across from ***, pulling me and Mom beside them.
Heading for the door, Sasha said, “Anytime you’re ready, Naheim. Cameras are rolling.” Once she exited, the room suddenly filled with the heavy beat of rap music.
“We are Original Man, the Asiatic Black Man,
The Maker, the Owner, the Cream of the Planet Earth,
Father of Civilization, and ******** of the Universe!”
Naheim circled ***’s swaying body, tossing a couple of light punches at ***’s torso and backside. *** tried to wriggle away, but with his toes barely touching the floor, he had very little control. He locked eyes with Mom, and mumbled something through his gag.
“What’s that, Dan, honey,” Mom giggled mischievously, her hand openly massaging D’Shawn’s crotch. “I can’t understand you. You have a thing in your mouth.”
I turned to Mom. “Oh, you know what, I think he’s complaining that he never consented to this.”
“But you did,” Mom said. “Don’t you remember? You signed the consent form in the office when we arrived. And I’m so happy you did, Dan. We’ll all be much happier when you’re gone.”
Raheim’s fist connected with ***’s jaw, a loud crack heard even above the music. The boys all cheered, Mom said, “Ooo! Nice one!” I simply smiled, lowering my mouth to Tariq’s bulging crotch.
“I’m Black, I’m proud,
I’m ready and hyped, plus I’m amped,
Most of my heroes don’t appear on stamps,
Sample a look back you look and find
Nothing but rednecks for 400 years if you check!”
As Naheim continued to circle ***, he tossed the occasional punch, some love taps, some firmer blows, but nothing yet that did serious damage. Like any predator with his prey, he was toying with ***. He flexed his massive body, veins rippling down his tattooed arms, his thick chest and abdominals bulging with power. “Know why I work this body so hard, whiteboy,” he asked, his face just inches from ***’s. “To turn it into a weapon, the better to snuff white losers like you.” He drove his fist into ***’s unprotected gut. “Nothing, but nothing gets me off more than disposing of whiteboys!”
Hearing that, Jarrod leaped from his chair. “I want to take a turn,” he said. “Can I, huh? Can I hit ‘im?” His friends cheered him on. Naheim explained, “You’re not licensed, so I can’t let you dispose of him, but sure, you can hit him. Go ahead! Make it count!” Jarrod raised a fist to ***’s face, rubbing his knuckles against ***’s cheek. Pulling his arm back, the black teen drove his fist right into ***’s nose with a satisfying crunch. *** sputtered and spit as the gag was knocked from his mouth. Blood poured from his broken nose. “P-p-please,” he begged, “I don’t, I want…” Before he could say another word, Naheim drove a fist into ***’s diaphragm, cutting of his air. *** struggled to breath.
As we enjoyed the show, Mom and I had each lowered Tariq and D’Shawn’s basketball shorts and raised our dresses. We stood and mounted them in reverse cowgirl position in order to continue watching ***’s beating. I welcomed Tariq’s thick, black, teenage cock in my pussy, dripping wildly at the sight of my father’s brutal abuse. Tariq’s hands roamed over my pregnant belly and my bloated tits from behind as he thrust deep into my cunt. “That’s right, baby momma,” he said, “ride that black beast.”
Andre had stood to join Naheim and Jarrod, his fists pummeling ***’s pale belly. Jarrod stepped close to ***, and kneed him in the groin. *** cried out in pain. “This is exactly what white losers like you deserve,” Jarrod sneered at him. “Fuck, I wish I could be the one to waste you!”
“Well,” Naheim explained, “the courts are working on legislation that would make killing whiteboys a misdemeanor, kind of like shoplifting or littering. You’d probably just get a ticket, if that. Once that passes, you can waste all the whiteboys you want, bro, you won’t even need to be licensed.” The boys all laughed and cheered. “I cannot fuckin’ wait,” said Jarrod. “I could kill a whiteboy every night and not ever get tired of it.”
Just then the door to the disposal room opened and Tyler joined us. He wore only the undergarments Mom had given him, her lace panties and teddy. He stood transfixed at the sight of ***’s suspended, bruised, bloody body. “Oh, good,” he said, relieved that *** was still breathing. “I was afraid I missed it.”
“How’d it go, loser?” I asked.
He looked at me sitting astride Tariq’s thick fuck sausage. “Oh, okay,” he said. “Still a little numb. The doctor used a local anesthetic. She said that they sometimes do it without any, but that she liked me and wanted me to be able enjoy ***’s disposal.” Tyler lowered his panties, revealing that where testicles had once dangled below his small, white penis, now there was only a series of stitches. Even without balls, however, I noticed that his tiny dicklet had become erect with blood at the sight of ***’s plight.
“Wo-hoo!” Tariq cheered. “You had the shitstain neutered! Hella sick! How’s it feel, whiteboy, to have nothing left between yo’ legs but that lil clit o’ yours?”
Tyler pulled his panties back up over his erect dink. “It’s an honor, sir,” he answered. “I’m relieved that I’ll never be able to pollute the world with white parasites. I want to serve the New World Order, the Black World Order.”
Andre grabbed my brother by his curly blonde hair and forced him to his knees. “Well, you can start, girl,” Andre said, fishing his own baby maker out of low sagging jeans, “by suckin’ on my hard, Mandingo beef while we off your ***.” Tyler eagerly wrapped his lips around Andre’s long, dark brown African cock, slurping it deep to the back of his throat. My cocksucking brother seemed to have no gag reflex at all, the perfect faggot. Jarrod stood next to Andre and began beating my brother about the face with his own fat cock. Our ***’s eyes widened in dismay as he witnessed his own newly castrated son enthusiastically gobble on two enormous, black, teen cocks.
Naheim, meanwhile, pulled a pair of gold-colored brass knuckles out of his pocket and fitted them to his powerful fists. “Now that everybody’s here,” he grinned, “we can get on with the show.”
“Motherfuckers halt, when my Colt start stompin’,
Thunder strikes your land with a jolt,
Your stamina level is low like currents from
The volts of relentless punishment that multiplies
At a speed the naked eye can’t die-tect…”
Naheim proceeded to pummel *** with a series of body blows, no longer toying with him. He circled ***’s body, slamming his metal-adorned fists into ***’s ribcage, his abdomen, his lower back, his chest, his jaw, his already broken nose, his eyes. The white skin itself seemed to be an affront to the powerful black man. He was brutal and relentless; it was a thing of beauty to watch a powerful black god like Naheim violently strip a white man of all his assumed privilege. My Black Studies professors had taught me to view white disposal as a catharsis for centuries of white abuse of the black body, black autonomy. ***’s abuse was that, but it was so much more, I realized, as I came again and again on Tariq’s piledriving cock. This was not a movement of racial harmony or equality: there could be no equality between black kings and their white oppressors. There could only be justice, and that justice was being delivered everywhere by the fists of gods like Naheim. The fists, the guns, the knives, the cocks, all the weapons that ensured a white-free future. I was never more honored to be given the privilege of carrying a black king in my debased womb.
I could not possibly know what was going through the minds of the young black gods that were fucking me, my mother, and my brother as we all watched ***’s disposal, but I could tell it was powerful as they fucked with an unprecedented fervor.
Naheim stepped aside so we could view the damage he'd wrought. He was like an artist displaying his work, ***'s bruised and bloody face his canvas. He launched into a volley of punches, this time all of them centered on ***'s face, teeth flying freely from ***'s mouth. By the time he relented, ***'s face look less like the man I had known and more like hamburger, red, moist ground beef. His eyes were swollen shut, anything recognizable as a nose simply gone, his lips bloated and torn, his hair matted with blood. Raspy groans escaped the thing that had once been a mouth. Blood dripped off ***'s face in long, thick strands, pooling at his feet, oozing down the drain. Raheim's brass knuckles were coated with blood, and a rich, red spray decorated his bare torso and his handsome face. His display of power was intoxicating, both to himself and his audience.
"Whiteboy ain't gonna last much longer," D'Shawn said, with a low, admiring whistle, his cock buried deep in Mom’s snatch.
Mom's eyes were locked on what had once been ***'s face. "Oh, Dan," she said with open contempt, grinding against D'Shawn's black cock, "you're just so weak and pathetic, not a real man at all. But some good will come out of your disposal: your life insurance will help Julie and me care for the beautiful black babies we're going to bring into this world. Isn't that wonderful?"
“You hate me, don’t you?
You hate my people, your plan is to terminate my culture!
You’re fuckin’ evil, I want you to recognize that I’m a proud monkey!
You vandalize my perception, but can’t take style from me,
And this is more than confession!”
Tariq was fucking me harder than I had ever been fucked, while my baby sloshed around inside my womb. Tyler sucked both Jarrod and Andre vigorously, moving his cocksucking mouth from one massive black cock to the other. Even without testicles, my brother stroked his little cocklet through his lace panties, almost as if what was left of his dick were really a clit.
Naheim resumed the beating, beginning to dance around *** like a boxer, tossing punch after punch at the meat sack that hung in the middle of the room. The boys hooted and cheered, while Mom and I groaned in pleasure. We knew that the abuse *** was enduring was being videotaped for us to enjoy over and over again. Mom had already authorized its duplication to be used both for disposal advertising and for sale as a snuff film. She would get a small percentage of any revenue it brought in, meaning *** would continue to contribute financially to the ****** even after he was long gone.
Naheim paused behind ***'s suspended body. He removed the heavy brass knuckles. He cupped one bloody hand under the mess that had been ***'s jaw, covering ***'s forehead with the other. He looked directly at Mom. "You ready for me waste your whiteboy, you little race traitor?"
"Do it, dawg!" the black teens cheered. "Fuckin' off the loser! Snuff 'im!"
Mom skewered herself deeply on D'Shawn's cum-engorged dick, cumming wildly. "Do it!" she hissed through clenched teeth. "Kill my waste of a husband! Kill that white bastard! Make me a widow!"
With a sudden, forceful twist of his powerful hands, Naheim snapped ***'s neck like a dry twig. The well-beaten body convulsed briefly, then hung still. With one less white loser in the world, Mom and I came hard just as Tariq and D'Shawn spewed their superior baby batter deep into our pussies. Andre and Jarrod spackled my brother's faggot face liberally with their thick jizz. Naheim fished his bottle-thick cock out of his jeans, threw back his head, and with a few quick strokes sprayed his DNA all over ***'s corpse. It was as though he were signing his masterpiece. Still impaled on D’Shawn’s fat meat, Mom slipped off her wedding ring and tossed it into the blood-filled drain at ***’s feet. “I won’t be needing that anymore,” she sighed contentedly.
Sasha had provided Mom with a number of choices for the final disposition of ***'s remains. Among the options was donating the meat to a dog food company. Mom chose wisely. Sasha assured us that ***'s final journey through the meat grinder would be videotaped and included in the final cut of his disposal video. It was, and provided our ****** with a good laugh and endless pleasure.
Epilogue
About a dozen years later, Tyler finally followed *** through that grinder. Between us, Mom and I had given birth to eight black children. Tyler had been a reliable, dedicated caregiver for them, as well as an occasional sex slave to our various black lovers and baby daddies. Although as a whiteboy, Tyler was not permitted to discipline black children, he sometimes forgot himself and tried to set boundaries with the kids. On one such occasion, my oldest son, twelve year old Naheim, had had enough, and shot his Uncle Tyler in the head with his Glock .38. As young Naheim’s namesake had predicted years earlier, the killing of whiteboys was regarded with less severity than a minor traffic violation, and Naheim received nothing more than a lukewarm reprimand from his grandmother, for the inconvenience more than anything else. Killing his uncle, in fact, had made Naheim something of a hero with his brothers and sisters, to say nothing of the other children at school. Tyler’s remains, like those of our father so many years ago, were donated as dog food.
Mom wanted a replacement whiteboy for Tyler, as eight children were a handful and she and I were both still dedicated to providing more black babies for the New World Order, which naturally took up a great deal of our time. Now middle-aged, Mom had, in fact, decided it was necessary to start fertility treatments, and found herself pregnant with twins. Replacing Tyler was proving problematic, however, as there were so few whiteboys left in the country, and most of those remaining were already owned by black families. Europe, however, which had been largely taken over by Arabic and African Muslims, sometimes sold whiteboys on the open market. As a white ******, we were not legally eligible to purchase any Euro-whiteboys, but Sasha helped us out.
We had stayed in contact with Sasha, watching as she became a powerful political figure in the state legislature. She pulled some strings and obtained an eighteen year old Swedish whiteboy named Stefan to replace Tyler. The whole ****** had a good time neutering the new whiteboy. Instead of the kind of surgical castration that had been performed on Tyler, Mom bought a home banding kit, similar to the kind used on livestock (which, to be honest, is kind of what Stefan was). Naheim and the other children used the elastrator to band the whiteboy’s testicles. After about a week, his scrotum dried up and simply dropped off. The children kept the small olive-sized nuts and a pickle jar which they brought to show ‘n’ tell at school.
Mom and I could only hope that little Naheim wouldn’t snuff this one. At least not for a while.
*Rap lyrics courtesy of Wu-Tang Clan, Public Enemy, and Kendrick Lamar.
