Looking back, Dan regarded the passing of the Reparations Bill as the point at which everything that would happen later became inevitable. Not content with a single one-time payment to black Americans for the injustices suffered under slavery and Jim Crow and segregation, lawmakers decided to impose a tithe on the earnings of white workers, a tax that would be redistributed to black citizens, black businesses, and black communities, in perpetuity. There was resistance, of course, although much less than might have been expected due largely to the collective white guilt that had gripped the nation in recent years. In their quiet suburban cul-de-sac, Dan and his ******--his wife Kate, 18 year old ******** Julie, and 16 year old son Tyler--found themselves seemingly little affected by many of the social changes: the increased presence of black men and women in mass media, the rising rates of white suicide or what was euphemistically referred to as voluntary disposal, the laws that increasingly if subtly curtailed the rights and liberties of white Americans, the increased legal immigration from African and Caribbean nations. Sure, Dan's weekly paycheck was smaller due to his mandatory tithe, and his company had a new, black CEO, but not much else appeared different in their sedate middle-class lives.
Until, that is, Julie went off to college. Many universities, by that time, had become increasingly segregated, with the top classes, best housing, and premiere extracurriculars reserved for black students. White students were still admitted to all but a few universities, and most courses of study remained open to them, but an increasing number of degrees and professions were reserved for blacks only in the ongoing effort to correct for historical injustices. Although many activists felt that a pretty, white girl like Julie was wasting her time learning much more than how to serve her black superiors, the local state university continued admitting white students on a provisional basis, so long as they met a number of remediation requirements in their freshman year, including a host of grievance studies related to black history and black supremacy. Dan was uncomfortable with the course load his ******** had undertaken for her first semester: there were no STEM requirements for white students, no introductory liberal arts courses. Everything, it seemed, revolved around black cultural studies, taught by the increasing number of black professors who had been granted tenure even as white teachers were purged from both lower and higher education. Dan feared it sounded a lot like indoctrination. Not one to make waves, however, especially given the current atmosphere, Dan remained quiet about his concerns, and drove his ******** to her assigned all-white female dorm in the city.
Those first few months seemed to go well for Julie. She called home regularly, excited with her classes and her new friends. She and Kate, especially, spent a lot of time video chatting. Dan caught parts of these conversations, surprised by the frank language. Kate, Dan assumed, must be offering Julie advice dealing with sexually aggressive college boys. The mother-******** relationship, Dan mused, had never been better now that they were several miles apart. At home, meanwhile, Dan noticed more and more black faces moving into their once comfortably white suburban town. Tyler found himself cut from his high school baseball team, as preference had to be given to the many new black students who were attending his school, and who proved, of course, superior athletes to the white boys they replaced. Tyler, who until recently had been a popular and successful student, found himself the object of ridicule by many of these same black boys, who bullied and teased him for his blonde hair and blue eyes, white qualities the black teens had learned to scorn, especially when possessed by a male. White girls, who previously would have happily welcomed Tyler’s attention, now preferred the advances of these handsome, black jocks. Tyler, once a gregarious and carefree teenager, had become sullen and withdrawn, spending hours alone in his room. Sometimes, he came home from school with barely concealed bruises on his arms, blackened eyes, a swollen lip. When Dan expressed concern to his wife, Kate merely shrugged it off as something Tyler would probably outgrow. “It’s simply a very different world than when you and I were in high school, sweetheart,” she told her husband. “Tyler simply needs to…adjust to the way things are now.” Dan supposed his wife was correct, she usually was when it came to the children, after all.
When Julie came home for holiday break, Dan sensed a chilliness about her, she was frequently flippant with her father and largely ignored her brother. He caught Julie and Kate with their heads together quite a bit, however, whispering and giggling, more like best friends than mother and ********. Julie left many of her school textbooks lying around the house, the provocative titles catching Dan’s attention, books like, Ebony Conversion, The Extinction Itch, and Modern Solutions: the Case for White ********. Dan also discovered a number of pamphlets from some of the many Voluntary Disposal Centers that had started popping up around the country now that Congress had legalized the voluntary euthanasia of white citizens as just one means of equalizing the demographic excess of white Americans. Once, he even noticed his son disappearing into the second floor bathroom with one of those very pamphlets tucked under his arm. What, Dan worried, is happening to my ******?
It was not until Julie came home for spring break that Dan really understood the extent of the problem. His little girl—pretty, blonde, with intelligent green eyes, and a charming smile—was clearly about four or five months pregnant. Kate, he realized, apparently, already knew about the baby, and appeared unconcerned, even pleased. Dan was aghast, but as usual tried to keep his shock in check so as not to ruffle any feathers.
“I d-didn’t know you were, uh, seeing anyone, sweetie,” he stammered. “Can I ask, w-who is the father?”
Julie rolled her eyes and sighed. “Jeez, ***, I don’t know. Not really. There are, oh, several candidates. The only thing I know for sure is that my baby will be a beautiful, black god.”
Kate beamed. “Isn’t that wonderful, Dan? Our Julie is brave enough to have taken the next step in evolution. She is a proud traitor to her race, helping to ensure that the future will be black. I only wish things had been that progressive when we in college. Don’t you?” Dan looked at his wife as if he did not recognize her. How could she possibly cheer the fact that Julie was pregnant out of wedlock? And by an unknown black father? “I mean,” Kate continued, “to think that I could have raised beautiful black babies to further the New World Order…It’s almost intoxicating!”
Julie grinned widely. “Well, it’s not too late, Mom. You’re only 37, you still have plenty of time to do the right thing. In fact, getting bred was only the first of the requirements I need in order to score a perfect grade point average for my freshman year. Converting a female ****** member would count toward the second!”
Dan’s mouth dropped open. “What? You mean, you got knocked up intentionally as a course assignment?”
Julie looked annoyed that Dan had interrupted. “Duh, ***, yeah. I know things are progressing slower here in your lily-white suburb, but white people are already on their way out in the cities. We’re an evolutionary dead end. Like most of the other white girls in my class, my professors gave a three-point assignment: breed, convert, dispose. The first step is done. Converting Mom would satisfy the second requirement. And helping to dispose of a pathetic white boy would fulfill the third. I was thinking that you or Tyler might volunteer,” Julie added with a wicked grin.
“Or both!” Kate offered enthusiastically. Julie joined in her mother’s laughter. “That would be perfect, Mom,” she said. “I can always use the extra credit. Tyler counts as a bonus, too, since we could dispose of him before he pollutes the gene pool.”
Dan heard a soft cough from the doorway as his teenaged son cleared his throat. “Uhm, I’ll do it, Julie,” Tyler said quietly, having clearly overheard most of the conversation. “You can sign me up for disposal.”
Julie looked elated. “Are you sure, honey?” his mother asked. “You do understand what it means, right?”
Tyler entered the living room. “Y-yeah, Mom, I’ve been reading all about it in Julie’s books. They’re right: the future is b-black. White girls can be part of it by breeding black babies and raising black children. But g-guys l-like me? We don’t have anything to offer. We’re better off…d-d-dead.” He sat down on an easy chair opposite his mother and sister. It saddened Dan to see his handsome, once confident son so defeated. “A lot of girls at school, even girls that were my friends, they, uhm, they text me that I should just hang myself and get it over with. Now that so many black guys have transferred into the school, they’ve taken over the classes, the athletics, even the girls. Everyone’s right: it’d just be better if I were…gone.”
“Oh, baby,” Kate smiled. “I’m so proud of you. That is such a brave decision.”
Dan stood up. “Proud? How can you say that, Kate? Our son just volunteered to have himself killed! Disposed of! That’s…that’s sick!”
Julie looked disgusted. “See, Mom, just like I told you: white privilege. After hundreds of years of white men like *** oppressing and jailing and killing people of color, he calls it sick now that some of us are trying to fix things.”
Kate shook her head. “She’s right, Dan. You really are such a cliché.”
Tyler cleared his throat. “It’s really okay, ***. I’ve thought about it. A lot. This is what I want.”
Julie looked to her Mom. “See, Mom, just like I told you: white boys have the extinction itch. Even Tyler. They instinctively know that we’re a dead end, that the future of this country, probably the entire world, is black. At last, they can do something right by disposing of themselves. Of course, Tyler is ********. So, he’ll need you to sign the consent forms, Mom. Is that okay?”
“Of course, Julie. I’d be happy to.”
Dan exploded. “Well, I don’t! I don’t consent! I won’t consent to have my son murdered by a bunch of…of niggers!”
Julie sighed, and shook her head. “There you go: the moment their superiority is called into question, white boys always fall back on racism and white supremacy. It’s just like they taught me at school. Sad.”
“It really doesn’t matter what you consent to, Dan,” Kate informed him. “Legal disposal of minors only requires the consent of one parent. This really gives me the opportunity to correct a mistake I made sixteen years ago when I give birth to a white boy. Had I known what the future would hold, I could have avoided all this by simply terminating Tyler before he was born.”
Tyler smiled thinly. “I--I wish you had, Mom.” Kate gave her teary-eyed, defeated son a sympathetic smile. “So do I, baby,” she assured him.
“I will not be part of this,” Dan yelled. “It’s…it’s disgusting!” Grabbing his car keys, he stormed out of the house.
“Maybe he’ll do us all a favor and die in a car crash,” Julie mused.
“Julie! Don’t say that,” Kate admonished her. “That would deprive me of the pleasure of seeing your father’s disposal. Now, about my conversion…did you have anyone in mind?”
Dan had never raised his voice to his ****** before, not even when the children were little, and certainly never to Kate. As he drove through the neighborhood toward the highway without any fixed idea where he was heading, he reflected on how things had gotten to this point. How could his wife, the woman he loved and provided for, sign away the life of their only son? How could his ********, his beautiful, sweet Julie, hope to have her baby brother and even Dan himself snuffed for the purpose of a good grade? Had he really been that unobservant, had things really changed that much and he just had not noticed? He had never used the word “nigger” before in his life, and regarded his outburst with some shame. Were Julie’s books correct? Were all white men racist at heart, himself included?
Dan had watched his share of pornography, and seen black male performers display their physical equipment and prowess, their virility and sexual aggression. He knew that he was not like them in bed. It had never occurred to him that kind of sex was what women craved, let alone what his own wife Kate desired. He had never thought about it enough to even bother feeling inadequate. That was clearly selfish on his part. The women in those videos were not just performing as he had always assumed; they were sexually fulfilled in ways that he could not possibly have satisfied Kate. And now his very own ******** Julie was pregnant with the child of an anonymous black man; and his wife, his own Kate, had come right out and said that she wanted to be blacked as well, maybe even bred. Involuntarily, Dan felt his rather small penis grown turgid at the thought of Kate giving herself sexually to a black man. Whatever sickness had infected his ******, he realized with horror, feeling his cock press against his slacks, had extended itself to him. A billboard along the side of the highway caught his eye. A well-dressed, muscular black man sat on a sofa, one arm around the shoulder of a white woman with creamy skin and a pleasant smile, the other resting lightly on her stomach. The text beside the image read, Disposal: Your Choice for a Better Tomorrow. There was a disposal center, Dan realized, at the very next exit.
He pulled into the parking lot, his breathing ragged and shallow. The building was non-descript, stucco, two stories, with tinted windows. This, he thought, this is what my ****** expects of me. To walk through those doors, to sacrifice myself. He tried to imagine what went on in there. Although voluntary white disposal was a growing phenomenon, Dan had remained largely ignorant regarding the specifics of it. Sure, a couple of acquaintances from work had opted for disposal, resulting in some office gossip, but no one Dan had known well. The occasional newspaper headline about the popularity of disposal among coastal whites sometimes caught his eye, but he considered that nothing more than the usual aberration that one often heard about from places like New York or Los Angeles, like botox injections or cloning one’s pets. He lived in the American heartland. His ****** was--*tap tap tap* He looked up. A tall, heavily muscled black man in mirrored sunglasses stood at his car window. A black T-shirt stretched taut on his thick pectorals read “SECURITY” in bold white letters. Dan lowered the driver’s side window.
“Do you have an appointment,” the black man asked Dan.
“No, no, sir, I…I was just, uh,” Dan stammered, looking for an explanation why he was parked here outside of a disposal center.
“It’s okay,” the man assured him. “We get lots of walk-ins here. I’m sure someone can, hmm, help you right away.”
Dan flushed. “Oh, I’m not, I mean, I’m not really interested in, uhh, well, you know.”
The security guard grinned knowingly, a gold tooth flashing in his smile. “Right, sure you’re not, that’s what they always say.” His dark brown arms were thick and knotted with muscle, Dan noticed. “Look, there are counsellors inside who can answer any questions you have. They can help with the paperwork, all that legal crap. I just have to keep the parking lot clear of, y’know, loiterers, curiosity seekers, voyeurs, that kind of shit. You wouldn’t believe how many white boys just want to get a glimpse of who’s coming and going and, heh, who’s not leaving.”
Counsellors, Dan thought. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. There was so much he didn’t understand.
“So, Dan, what can I help you with today?” The counsellor was a very, attractive black woman named Sasha, only a couple of years older than Julie, professional and polite, although Dan noticed that neither she nor the security guard addressed him as sir. The staff maintained a level of familiarity, almost condescension with Dan, as though they were speaking with a child of moderate intelligence. “Were you interested in scheduling a disposal for yourself or, perhaps, for someone else?”
“N-no,” Dan began to explain. “At least, not, not right away. My son, he’s expressed some…interest in…in…I can’t even bring myself to say it.”
“That’s not uncommon, Dan,” Sasha smiled. “Please, don’t be embarrassed. It’s quite natural that you have questions and concerns. I’m here to talk you through the process. We want the disposal of a loved one to be the best possible experience it can be for them and for you. It’s naturally very difficult for a parent to learn that his or her child has opted for disposal. But remember what the Good Book says: a child shall lead them. It sounds as though your son has made peace with his genetic inferiority and historical obsolescence. That’s really quite an admirable thing for a young man. Especially a young, white man. They are often so stubborn and recalcitrant.”
“His sister, his older sister, she—I just found out today—she’s already been, ah, blacked, already been bred.”
“Oh! What wonderful news! Well, I guess that spells the end of your white lineage, Dan. You really should be proud. Here, why don’t I schedule your son in for this weekend. Say, two o’clock on Saturday?”
“What? No, no, I never, I didn’t….If, if we did go through with something like that, h-how would it be done? I mean, what would happen?”
“Well, there are a large variety of choices. Would his sister like to witness the disposal? What about you or his mother, would either of you want to be there?”
“I don’t know, I never thought about it.”
“Come on, Dan, don’t fib. Of course you thought about it. Everyone does. In fact, I would be quite surprised if you didn’t have a bit of wood right now contemplating your son’s disposal.” Dan hung his head in shame. He did have an erection. Just being here, knowing what happens in these walls, had made him hard.
“Of course we don’t just do disposals, you know,” Sasha told him.
“You don’t?”
“No, of course not. I mean, yes, that is the biggest part of our business model, and the most, let’s say, notorious. But we also conduct castration services for white men, what the technicians here prefer to call neutering, both chemical and physical. And, of course, we perform abortions on white fetuses right up to the day of delivery.”
“Day of delivery? For God’s sake, why?”
“Oh, some white women find it very arousing to terminate a white child just before it is born. To be honest, it can become quite addicting for some women. There are some who even let their white boy husbands knock them up on purpose just so they can have the pleasure of snuffing it.” Sasha poured a glass of water for Dan from a glass pitcher on her desk. “Would it help you make up your mind, Dan, to watch a disposal?”
“Th-that’s possible?” he gasped.
“Oh, certainly. Many of our customers allow their disposals to be videoed in exchange for a reduced rate. We use them mostly as promotional material. Simple disposals, you see, are complimentary. But many people have specialty requests, which can cost a bit extra. And most wives and girlfriends, and even some mothers (like your wife, perhaps), arrange to be sexually serviced by our staff while witnessing a disposal, which also incurs a bit of cost. Let’s see…ah! I know just the one,” Sasha assured Dan, as she clicked through some files on her desktop. Turning the large monitor towards Dan, Sasha turned up the volume on the speakers. “This is a personal favorite.”
On the screen, a white man about 30 years old, stood on a wooden platform in only his underwear, a noose around his neck, his hands secured behind his back, a gag in his mouth. A woman about the same age, with short, dark hair, in black lingerie circled the platform coyly. “Oh, Ben, sweetie, I have been waiting for this day for such a long time,” she said. “Did I tell you that I promised to send a copy of the video to your mother and your sister? They are so excited!”
Just then a very muscular black man, shirtless, in tight black jeans, entered the room. “We ready to do this shit or what,” the black man sneered, looking up at the helpless white boy. The woman embraced the man, kissing him deeply, tongues entwined. “Ben, darling, this is Marcus. He’s going to be your executioner today.” The woman groped the considerable bulge in Marcus’s crotch. “Oh, so hard already,” she observed with a smile. “That’s right,” Marcus said, “snuffing white boys always gets me rock hard and full of cum!” Ben’s wife lowered the fly of Marcus’s jeans, fishing out his heavy cock. It took quite a bit of maneuvering to work Marcus’s thick, pendulous tool out of his fly. Even just semi-erect, Dan noted, it was already much bigger than Dan’s own modest sized penis. Marcus moved behind Ben’s wife, pushing her laced panties down over her silky thighs. He pressed his bloated erection against her ass as he moved his large, black hands up her lithe body, cupping her breasts from behind. From his place on the gallows, Ben watched transfixed.
“It is quite alright if you feel the need to jack your little white dick,” Sasha assured Dan. “White boy penises are no more offensive or threatening to me than the wee-wees of four year old boys.” The implied insult made Dan’s prick twitch in his slacks. He reached in, freeing it with much more ease than than the woman had Marcus’s enormous member. He marveled inwardly at the fact that he was jerking his small dick in the office of a black woman who, until 15 minutes ago, he had never met, while watching the pending murder of a complete stranger.
The young white woman in the video spread her legs, resting her arms on the platform of Ben’s gallows, welcoming Marcus’s black cock into her married pussy from behind, as she looked up at her helpless husband. “Ahhh,” she moaned, as the girthy member pushed its way into her cunt. “So good, just so fuckin’ good.” Dan noticed a visible bulge grow in Ben’s tighty whities as he watched his wife take such enormous pleasure at being mounted from behind by the donkey-dicked black man. “Oh! Oh, Ben, how I could possibly have wasted so many years with you and your white micro-dick is beyond me. I only thank God that we never had any children. That leaves my womb untainted for the black gods and goddesses that I hope to breed for the New Black World Order!” Dan and Ben whimpered almost simultaneously at the thought of this attractive, young white woman serving as mare for a whole brood of black babies. “Maybe,” she moaned, “maybe I will conceive my first one today, the very day of your disposal. Wouldn’t that be wonderful!” The thought seemed to send her into a frenzy, as she began to thrash and grind her pussy onto Marcus’s pummeling cock. “That’s right, whore,” Marcus encouraged her, “work that baby batter out of my big nuts!”
“The future is black,” the wanton woman told Ben, looking up at him, the noose around his neck, tears glistening in his eyes. Marcus whispered into her ear as he fucked her. “Tell your husband, snowbunny,” he instructed her, “tell him how hot it makes you to watch him snuffed while you get knocked up by a real man!”
“Oh, it’s true, Ben, it’s so true,” she repeated, “I can’t wait to watch you die! I hope my baby is conceived while you take your very last breath! White people are a disease, and I want to help wipe us out!”
Dan was transfixed by what he witnessed on the monitor. Ben's wife was clearly enjoying multiple orgasms as Marcus fucked her with his ebony tool. The hard-muscled stud would withdraw his black snake to the very tip before sinking it back deep in the white slut’s dripping pussy. The muscles of his powerful torso rippled with every thrust. She, meanwhile, barely took her eyes of her husband, who trembled helplessly. "Get ready, snowbunny," Marcus warned her, "I'm going to be drowning your eggs with my thick African seed any second now!" Anticipating his cum, Marcus placed his hand on a button on the side of the platform, the woman eagerly placed her own small hand over his; just as the ebony god shot his load deep in the wanton race traitor's pussy, they pressed the button together, and the trap door gave out beneath Ben's feet.
The gallows was designed purposely to not snap the victim’s neck when he fell, something which would have at least guaranteed Ben a quick, clean death. Instead, the young white man dropped a mere three feet, leaving him thrashing wildly as the noose tore into the flesh of his neck. Between the sight of Ben strangling slowly before her and the flood of Marcus's baby juice, Ben's wife came so hard she very nearly blacked out. She only maintained consciousness through sheer will power, not wanting to miss her husband's eventual and very painful demise. Marcus stayed hard inside her, sloshing his cock around in her distended cunt, keeping her in the throes of sexual ecstasy as she watched her white husband slowly expire.
After several minutes of convulsions, Ben’s dangling corpse stopped flailing. A stain was evident in the crotch of his underwear. “Figures,” his wife laughed callously, “the little faggot never shot a load that large when he was alive.” Marcus withdrew his black anaconda from her dripping snatch with a plop, copious quantities of his semen running down her legs. “White boys almost always do that when they croak,” he told her. “Cum without even touching their little boy dicks, wasting their seed one last time. So fuckin’ pathetic. Take good care of my baby, you hot white bitch,” he said, as he zipped up his fly and exited the room.
Dan spurted his own thin, watery semen at that very moment, envisioning his own ********’s black-swollen belly, making a mess of the crotch of his slacks. Sasha made a face, and pushed a box of tissues toward him. “Well,” she inquired, “what did you think?”
Dan used a tissue to wipe himself off, then zipped himself up. “Did she,” he began with a slight gulp, “did she…get pregnant.”
Sasha smiled. “Ben’s disposal was at one of our first legal centers in Philadelphia, almost two years ago now. I processed Ben’s application. His widow, Megan, keeps in touch. She sends me photos of the baby she conceived with Marcus that day. A beautiful mocha-colored boy.” Sasha clicked on a file, bringing up an image of the same young woman, cradling a black infant in her arms, her belly clearly bulging with a second child. “She’s due any day now. She’s quite a dedicated race traitor, and hopes to raise many black children.”
“H-How many…disposals do you perform a day?”
“Well, at the Philly center, where I began,” Sasha explained, “we did several a day, more on weekends. When I left, we were performing, oh, about fifty disposals a week. This center here is new, so we’re nowhere near those number, yet. We off between five to ten white boys a week right now. But we are working on improving those numbers through selected advertising and word of mouth. How about it, Dan, can we pencil you in? Help us get those disposal numbers up?”
Dan wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Not me, not, uh, not yet, anyway. But…my son, Tyler…yes, Saturday afternoon should be good for his disposal. Let’s make an appointment.”
To be continued….
Until, that is, Julie went off to college. Many universities, by that time, had become increasingly segregated, with the top classes, best housing, and premiere extracurriculars reserved for black students. White students were still admitted to all but a few universities, and most courses of study remained open to them, but an increasing number of degrees and professions were reserved for blacks only in the ongoing effort to correct for historical injustices. Although many activists felt that a pretty, white girl like Julie was wasting her time learning much more than how to serve her black superiors, the local state university continued admitting white students on a provisional basis, so long as they met a number of remediation requirements in their freshman year, including a host of grievance studies related to black history and black supremacy. Dan was uncomfortable with the course load his ******** had undertaken for her first semester: there were no STEM requirements for white students, no introductory liberal arts courses. Everything, it seemed, revolved around black cultural studies, taught by the increasing number of black professors who had been granted tenure even as white teachers were purged from both lower and higher education. Dan feared it sounded a lot like indoctrination. Not one to make waves, however, especially given the current atmosphere, Dan remained quiet about his concerns, and drove his ******** to her assigned all-white female dorm in the city.
Those first few months seemed to go well for Julie. She called home regularly, excited with her classes and her new friends. She and Kate, especially, spent a lot of time video chatting. Dan caught parts of these conversations, surprised by the frank language. Kate, Dan assumed, must be offering Julie advice dealing with sexually aggressive college boys. The mother-******** relationship, Dan mused, had never been better now that they were several miles apart. At home, meanwhile, Dan noticed more and more black faces moving into their once comfortably white suburban town. Tyler found himself cut from his high school baseball team, as preference had to be given to the many new black students who were attending his school, and who proved, of course, superior athletes to the white boys they replaced. Tyler, who until recently had been a popular and successful student, found himself the object of ridicule by many of these same black boys, who bullied and teased him for his blonde hair and blue eyes, white qualities the black teens had learned to scorn, especially when possessed by a male. White girls, who previously would have happily welcomed Tyler’s attention, now preferred the advances of these handsome, black jocks. Tyler, once a gregarious and carefree teenager, had become sullen and withdrawn, spending hours alone in his room. Sometimes, he came home from school with barely concealed bruises on his arms, blackened eyes, a swollen lip. When Dan expressed concern to his wife, Kate merely shrugged it off as something Tyler would probably outgrow. “It’s simply a very different world than when you and I were in high school, sweetheart,” she told her husband. “Tyler simply needs to…adjust to the way things are now.” Dan supposed his wife was correct, she usually was when it came to the children, after all.
When Julie came home for holiday break, Dan sensed a chilliness about her, she was frequently flippant with her father and largely ignored her brother. He caught Julie and Kate with their heads together quite a bit, however, whispering and giggling, more like best friends than mother and ********. Julie left many of her school textbooks lying around the house, the provocative titles catching Dan’s attention, books like, Ebony Conversion, The Extinction Itch, and Modern Solutions: the Case for White ********. Dan also discovered a number of pamphlets from some of the many Voluntary Disposal Centers that had started popping up around the country now that Congress had legalized the voluntary euthanasia of white citizens as just one means of equalizing the demographic excess of white Americans. Once, he even noticed his son disappearing into the second floor bathroom with one of those very pamphlets tucked under his arm. What, Dan worried, is happening to my ******?
It was not until Julie came home for spring break that Dan really understood the extent of the problem. His little girl—pretty, blonde, with intelligent green eyes, and a charming smile—was clearly about four or five months pregnant. Kate, he realized, apparently, already knew about the baby, and appeared unconcerned, even pleased. Dan was aghast, but as usual tried to keep his shock in check so as not to ruffle any feathers.
“I d-didn’t know you were, uh, seeing anyone, sweetie,” he stammered. “Can I ask, w-who is the father?”
Julie rolled her eyes and sighed. “Jeez, ***, I don’t know. Not really. There are, oh, several candidates. The only thing I know for sure is that my baby will be a beautiful, black god.”
Kate beamed. “Isn’t that wonderful, Dan? Our Julie is brave enough to have taken the next step in evolution. She is a proud traitor to her race, helping to ensure that the future will be black. I only wish things had been that progressive when we in college. Don’t you?” Dan looked at his wife as if he did not recognize her. How could she possibly cheer the fact that Julie was pregnant out of wedlock? And by an unknown black father? “I mean,” Kate continued, “to think that I could have raised beautiful black babies to further the New World Order…It’s almost intoxicating!”
Julie grinned widely. “Well, it’s not too late, Mom. You’re only 37, you still have plenty of time to do the right thing. In fact, getting bred was only the first of the requirements I need in order to score a perfect grade point average for my freshman year. Converting a female ****** member would count toward the second!”
Dan’s mouth dropped open. “What? You mean, you got knocked up intentionally as a course assignment?”
Julie looked annoyed that Dan had interrupted. “Duh, ***, yeah. I know things are progressing slower here in your lily-white suburb, but white people are already on their way out in the cities. We’re an evolutionary dead end. Like most of the other white girls in my class, my professors gave a three-point assignment: breed, convert, dispose. The first step is done. Converting Mom would satisfy the second requirement. And helping to dispose of a pathetic white boy would fulfill the third. I was thinking that you or Tyler might volunteer,” Julie added with a wicked grin.
“Or both!” Kate offered enthusiastically. Julie joined in her mother’s laughter. “That would be perfect, Mom,” she said. “I can always use the extra credit. Tyler counts as a bonus, too, since we could dispose of him before he pollutes the gene pool.”
Dan heard a soft cough from the doorway as his teenaged son cleared his throat. “Uhm, I’ll do it, Julie,” Tyler said quietly, having clearly overheard most of the conversation. “You can sign me up for disposal.”
Julie looked elated. “Are you sure, honey?” his mother asked. “You do understand what it means, right?”
Tyler entered the living room. “Y-yeah, Mom, I’ve been reading all about it in Julie’s books. They’re right: the future is b-black. White girls can be part of it by breeding black babies and raising black children. But g-guys l-like me? We don’t have anything to offer. We’re better off…d-d-dead.” He sat down on an easy chair opposite his mother and sister. It saddened Dan to see his handsome, once confident son so defeated. “A lot of girls at school, even girls that were my friends, they, uhm, they text me that I should just hang myself and get it over with. Now that so many black guys have transferred into the school, they’ve taken over the classes, the athletics, even the girls. Everyone’s right: it’d just be better if I were…gone.”
“Oh, baby,” Kate smiled. “I’m so proud of you. That is such a brave decision.”
Dan stood up. “Proud? How can you say that, Kate? Our son just volunteered to have himself killed! Disposed of! That’s…that’s sick!”
Julie looked disgusted. “See, Mom, just like I told you: white privilege. After hundreds of years of white men like *** oppressing and jailing and killing people of color, he calls it sick now that some of us are trying to fix things.”
Kate shook her head. “She’s right, Dan. You really are such a cliché.”
Tyler cleared his throat. “It’s really okay, ***. I’ve thought about it. A lot. This is what I want.”
Julie looked to her Mom. “See, Mom, just like I told you: white boys have the extinction itch. Even Tyler. They instinctively know that we’re a dead end, that the future of this country, probably the entire world, is black. At last, they can do something right by disposing of themselves. Of course, Tyler is ********. So, he’ll need you to sign the consent forms, Mom. Is that okay?”
“Of course, Julie. I’d be happy to.”
Dan exploded. “Well, I don’t! I don’t consent! I won’t consent to have my son murdered by a bunch of…of niggers!”
Julie sighed, and shook her head. “There you go: the moment their superiority is called into question, white boys always fall back on racism and white supremacy. It’s just like they taught me at school. Sad.”
“It really doesn’t matter what you consent to, Dan,” Kate informed him. “Legal disposal of minors only requires the consent of one parent. This really gives me the opportunity to correct a mistake I made sixteen years ago when I give birth to a white boy. Had I known what the future would hold, I could have avoided all this by simply terminating Tyler before he was born.”
Tyler smiled thinly. “I--I wish you had, Mom.” Kate gave her teary-eyed, defeated son a sympathetic smile. “So do I, baby,” she assured him.
“I will not be part of this,” Dan yelled. “It’s…it’s disgusting!” Grabbing his car keys, he stormed out of the house.
“Maybe he’ll do us all a favor and die in a car crash,” Julie mused.
“Julie! Don’t say that,” Kate admonished her. “That would deprive me of the pleasure of seeing your father’s disposal. Now, about my conversion…did you have anyone in mind?”
Dan had never raised his voice to his ****** before, not even when the children were little, and certainly never to Kate. As he drove through the neighborhood toward the highway without any fixed idea where he was heading, he reflected on how things had gotten to this point. How could his wife, the woman he loved and provided for, sign away the life of their only son? How could his ********, his beautiful, sweet Julie, hope to have her baby brother and even Dan himself snuffed for the purpose of a good grade? Had he really been that unobservant, had things really changed that much and he just had not noticed? He had never used the word “nigger” before in his life, and regarded his outburst with some shame. Were Julie’s books correct? Were all white men racist at heart, himself included?
Dan had watched his share of pornography, and seen black male performers display their physical equipment and prowess, their virility and sexual aggression. He knew that he was not like them in bed. It had never occurred to him that kind of sex was what women craved, let alone what his own wife Kate desired. He had never thought about it enough to even bother feeling inadequate. That was clearly selfish on his part. The women in those videos were not just performing as he had always assumed; they were sexually fulfilled in ways that he could not possibly have satisfied Kate. And now his very own ******** Julie was pregnant with the child of an anonymous black man; and his wife, his own Kate, had come right out and said that she wanted to be blacked as well, maybe even bred. Involuntarily, Dan felt his rather small penis grown turgid at the thought of Kate giving herself sexually to a black man. Whatever sickness had infected his ******, he realized with horror, feeling his cock press against his slacks, had extended itself to him. A billboard along the side of the highway caught his eye. A well-dressed, muscular black man sat on a sofa, one arm around the shoulder of a white woman with creamy skin and a pleasant smile, the other resting lightly on her stomach. The text beside the image read, Disposal: Your Choice for a Better Tomorrow. There was a disposal center, Dan realized, at the very next exit.
He pulled into the parking lot, his breathing ragged and shallow. The building was non-descript, stucco, two stories, with tinted windows. This, he thought, this is what my ****** expects of me. To walk through those doors, to sacrifice myself. He tried to imagine what went on in there. Although voluntary white disposal was a growing phenomenon, Dan had remained largely ignorant regarding the specifics of it. Sure, a couple of acquaintances from work had opted for disposal, resulting in some office gossip, but no one Dan had known well. The occasional newspaper headline about the popularity of disposal among coastal whites sometimes caught his eye, but he considered that nothing more than the usual aberration that one often heard about from places like New York or Los Angeles, like botox injections or cloning one’s pets. He lived in the American heartland. His ****** was--*tap tap tap* He looked up. A tall, heavily muscled black man in mirrored sunglasses stood at his car window. A black T-shirt stretched taut on his thick pectorals read “SECURITY” in bold white letters. Dan lowered the driver’s side window.
“Do you have an appointment,” the black man asked Dan.
“No, no, sir, I…I was just, uh,” Dan stammered, looking for an explanation why he was parked here outside of a disposal center.
“It’s okay,” the man assured him. “We get lots of walk-ins here. I’m sure someone can, hmm, help you right away.”
Dan flushed. “Oh, I’m not, I mean, I’m not really interested in, uhh, well, you know.”
The security guard grinned knowingly, a gold tooth flashing in his smile. “Right, sure you’re not, that’s what they always say.” His dark brown arms were thick and knotted with muscle, Dan noticed. “Look, there are counsellors inside who can answer any questions you have. They can help with the paperwork, all that legal crap. I just have to keep the parking lot clear of, y’know, loiterers, curiosity seekers, voyeurs, that kind of shit. You wouldn’t believe how many white boys just want to get a glimpse of who’s coming and going and, heh, who’s not leaving.”
Counsellors, Dan thought. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. There was so much he didn’t understand.
“So, Dan, what can I help you with today?” The counsellor was a very, attractive black woman named Sasha, only a couple of years older than Julie, professional and polite, although Dan noticed that neither she nor the security guard addressed him as sir. The staff maintained a level of familiarity, almost condescension with Dan, as though they were speaking with a child of moderate intelligence. “Were you interested in scheduling a disposal for yourself or, perhaps, for someone else?”
“N-no,” Dan began to explain. “At least, not, not right away. My son, he’s expressed some…interest in…in…I can’t even bring myself to say it.”
“That’s not uncommon, Dan,” Sasha smiled. “Please, don’t be embarrassed. It’s quite natural that you have questions and concerns. I’m here to talk you through the process. We want the disposal of a loved one to be the best possible experience it can be for them and for you. It’s naturally very difficult for a parent to learn that his or her child has opted for disposal. But remember what the Good Book says: a child shall lead them. It sounds as though your son has made peace with his genetic inferiority and historical obsolescence. That’s really quite an admirable thing for a young man. Especially a young, white man. They are often so stubborn and recalcitrant.”
“His sister, his older sister, she—I just found out today—she’s already been, ah, blacked, already been bred.”
“Oh! What wonderful news! Well, I guess that spells the end of your white lineage, Dan. You really should be proud. Here, why don’t I schedule your son in for this weekend. Say, two o’clock on Saturday?”
“What? No, no, I never, I didn’t….If, if we did go through with something like that, h-how would it be done? I mean, what would happen?”
“Well, there are a large variety of choices. Would his sister like to witness the disposal? What about you or his mother, would either of you want to be there?”
“I don’t know, I never thought about it.”
“Come on, Dan, don’t fib. Of course you thought about it. Everyone does. In fact, I would be quite surprised if you didn’t have a bit of wood right now contemplating your son’s disposal.” Dan hung his head in shame. He did have an erection. Just being here, knowing what happens in these walls, had made him hard.
“Of course we don’t just do disposals, you know,” Sasha told him.
“You don’t?”
“No, of course not. I mean, yes, that is the biggest part of our business model, and the most, let’s say, notorious. But we also conduct castration services for white men, what the technicians here prefer to call neutering, both chemical and physical. And, of course, we perform abortions on white fetuses right up to the day of delivery.”
“Day of delivery? For God’s sake, why?”
“Oh, some white women find it very arousing to terminate a white child just before it is born. To be honest, it can become quite addicting for some women. There are some who even let their white boy husbands knock them up on purpose just so they can have the pleasure of snuffing it.” Sasha poured a glass of water for Dan from a glass pitcher on her desk. “Would it help you make up your mind, Dan, to watch a disposal?”
“Th-that’s possible?” he gasped.
“Oh, certainly. Many of our customers allow their disposals to be videoed in exchange for a reduced rate. We use them mostly as promotional material. Simple disposals, you see, are complimentary. But many people have specialty requests, which can cost a bit extra. And most wives and girlfriends, and even some mothers (like your wife, perhaps), arrange to be sexually serviced by our staff while witnessing a disposal, which also incurs a bit of cost. Let’s see…ah! I know just the one,” Sasha assured Dan, as she clicked through some files on her desktop. Turning the large monitor towards Dan, Sasha turned up the volume on the speakers. “This is a personal favorite.”
On the screen, a white man about 30 years old, stood on a wooden platform in only his underwear, a noose around his neck, his hands secured behind his back, a gag in his mouth. A woman about the same age, with short, dark hair, in black lingerie circled the platform coyly. “Oh, Ben, sweetie, I have been waiting for this day for such a long time,” she said. “Did I tell you that I promised to send a copy of the video to your mother and your sister? They are so excited!”
Just then a very muscular black man, shirtless, in tight black jeans, entered the room. “We ready to do this shit or what,” the black man sneered, looking up at the helpless white boy. The woman embraced the man, kissing him deeply, tongues entwined. “Ben, darling, this is Marcus. He’s going to be your executioner today.” The woman groped the considerable bulge in Marcus’s crotch. “Oh, so hard already,” she observed with a smile. “That’s right,” Marcus said, “snuffing white boys always gets me rock hard and full of cum!” Ben’s wife lowered the fly of Marcus’s jeans, fishing out his heavy cock. It took quite a bit of maneuvering to work Marcus’s thick, pendulous tool out of his fly. Even just semi-erect, Dan noted, it was already much bigger than Dan’s own modest sized penis. Marcus moved behind Ben’s wife, pushing her laced panties down over her silky thighs. He pressed his bloated erection against her ass as he moved his large, black hands up her lithe body, cupping her breasts from behind. From his place on the gallows, Ben watched transfixed.
“It is quite alright if you feel the need to jack your little white dick,” Sasha assured Dan. “White boy penises are no more offensive or threatening to me than the wee-wees of four year old boys.” The implied insult made Dan’s prick twitch in his slacks. He reached in, freeing it with much more ease than than the woman had Marcus’s enormous member. He marveled inwardly at the fact that he was jerking his small dick in the office of a black woman who, until 15 minutes ago, he had never met, while watching the pending murder of a complete stranger.
The young white woman in the video spread her legs, resting her arms on the platform of Ben’s gallows, welcoming Marcus’s black cock into her married pussy from behind, as she looked up at her helpless husband. “Ahhh,” she moaned, as the girthy member pushed its way into her cunt. “So good, just so fuckin’ good.” Dan noticed a visible bulge grow in Ben’s tighty whities as he watched his wife take such enormous pleasure at being mounted from behind by the donkey-dicked black man. “Oh! Oh, Ben, how I could possibly have wasted so many years with you and your white micro-dick is beyond me. I only thank God that we never had any children. That leaves my womb untainted for the black gods and goddesses that I hope to breed for the New Black World Order!” Dan and Ben whimpered almost simultaneously at the thought of this attractive, young white woman serving as mare for a whole brood of black babies. “Maybe,” she moaned, “maybe I will conceive my first one today, the very day of your disposal. Wouldn’t that be wonderful!” The thought seemed to send her into a frenzy, as she began to thrash and grind her pussy onto Marcus’s pummeling cock. “That’s right, whore,” Marcus encouraged her, “work that baby batter out of my big nuts!”
“The future is black,” the wanton woman told Ben, looking up at him, the noose around his neck, tears glistening in his eyes. Marcus whispered into her ear as he fucked her. “Tell your husband, snowbunny,” he instructed her, “tell him how hot it makes you to watch him snuffed while you get knocked up by a real man!”
“Oh, it’s true, Ben, it’s so true,” she repeated, “I can’t wait to watch you die! I hope my baby is conceived while you take your very last breath! White people are a disease, and I want to help wipe us out!”
Dan was transfixed by what he witnessed on the monitor. Ben's wife was clearly enjoying multiple orgasms as Marcus fucked her with his ebony tool. The hard-muscled stud would withdraw his black snake to the very tip before sinking it back deep in the white slut’s dripping pussy. The muscles of his powerful torso rippled with every thrust. She, meanwhile, barely took her eyes of her husband, who trembled helplessly. "Get ready, snowbunny," Marcus warned her, "I'm going to be drowning your eggs with my thick African seed any second now!" Anticipating his cum, Marcus placed his hand on a button on the side of the platform, the woman eagerly placed her own small hand over his; just as the ebony god shot his load deep in the wanton race traitor's pussy, they pressed the button together, and the trap door gave out beneath Ben's feet.
The gallows was designed purposely to not snap the victim’s neck when he fell, something which would have at least guaranteed Ben a quick, clean death. Instead, the young white man dropped a mere three feet, leaving him thrashing wildly as the noose tore into the flesh of his neck. Between the sight of Ben strangling slowly before her and the flood of Marcus's baby juice, Ben's wife came so hard she very nearly blacked out. She only maintained consciousness through sheer will power, not wanting to miss her husband's eventual and very painful demise. Marcus stayed hard inside her, sloshing his cock around in her distended cunt, keeping her in the throes of sexual ecstasy as she watched her white husband slowly expire.
After several minutes of convulsions, Ben’s dangling corpse stopped flailing. A stain was evident in the crotch of his underwear. “Figures,” his wife laughed callously, “the little faggot never shot a load that large when he was alive.” Marcus withdrew his black anaconda from her dripping snatch with a plop, copious quantities of his semen running down her legs. “White boys almost always do that when they croak,” he told her. “Cum without even touching their little boy dicks, wasting their seed one last time. So fuckin’ pathetic. Take good care of my baby, you hot white bitch,” he said, as he zipped up his fly and exited the room.
Dan spurted his own thin, watery semen at that very moment, envisioning his own ********’s black-swollen belly, making a mess of the crotch of his slacks. Sasha made a face, and pushed a box of tissues toward him. “Well,” she inquired, “what did you think?”
Dan used a tissue to wipe himself off, then zipped himself up. “Did she,” he began with a slight gulp, “did she…get pregnant.”
Sasha smiled. “Ben’s disposal was at one of our first legal centers in Philadelphia, almost two years ago now. I processed Ben’s application. His widow, Megan, keeps in touch. She sends me photos of the baby she conceived with Marcus that day. A beautiful mocha-colored boy.” Sasha clicked on a file, bringing up an image of the same young woman, cradling a black infant in her arms, her belly clearly bulging with a second child. “She’s due any day now. She’s quite a dedicated race traitor, and hopes to raise many black children.”
“H-How many…disposals do you perform a day?”
“Well, at the Philly center, where I began,” Sasha explained, “we did several a day, more on weekends. When I left, we were performing, oh, about fifty disposals a week. This center here is new, so we’re nowhere near those number, yet. We off between five to ten white boys a week right now. But we are working on improving those numbers through selected advertising and word of mouth. How about it, Dan, can we pencil you in? Help us get those disposal numbers up?”
Dan wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Not me, not, uh, not yet, anyway. But…my son, Tyler…yes, Saturday afternoon should be good for his disposal. Let’s make an appointment.”
To be continued….
