The Black New World Order

As Zacchaeus pumped his big, black cock into the soon to be black bred, white bread wife, he could hear her hapless husband moaning in pain and anguish. The cracker was sitting in what had become and would forever be the loyalist couple's cuck chair. Zacchaeus had taken the precaution of handcuffing the redneck, downstate farmer's wrists to the arms of the chair. Zacchaeus was confident that the humiliated husband couldn't free himself. The handcuffs that restrained him had been confiscated along with thousands of guns from the Chicago Police Department during the incessant rioting that culminated in the revolution. The cuckold couldn't do a damn thing to intervene as his lily white wife was being ravished so unrelentingly on their marital bed.

The white bitch wasn't totally nude. She'd been wearing a nightgown when Zacchaeus and his brothers arrived at their home so serendipitously. The white, satin gown with its daringly low cut, lacey bodice was intended to enable a respectable wife to entice her husband while offering at least a token concession to modesty if she was seen by other men. The gown might have arguably not been indecent when the lady had been standing before Zacchaeus less than an hour earlier on their front lawn in the light of the full moon. However; one of the straps of her nightgown had slipped over her shoulder and down her arm to fully expose one of her alabaster breasts to him. Now the hem of her gown was also pulled up above her waist to fully present her precious cunt to the interloper.

Zacchaeus had also taken the liberty of pulling the other strap of the white wife's white nightgown down off her shoulder so that both of her big breasts were fully exposed. Her flabby, saggy, mother's tits jiggled enticingly as she writhed beneath him on her marital bed. She struggled futilely against her husband's neckties that he'd used to bind the bitch's wrists to the brass headboard.

The white wife's white breasts undulated even more violently as Zacchaeus began thrusting even more rapidly and forcefully. He wanted to ensure that his purple glans was pummeling the entrance to the white bitch's Caucasian womb. The mature yet beautiful bitch was obviously on the wrong side of forty. However; she wasn't yet over the hill. Zacchaeus had read somewhere that a more vigorous fucking combined with her plight might coax her maturing ovaries to cough up yet another egg.

Impregnating a white bitch was not merely every Black man's ultimate, sexual fantasy. The moral imperative for white folk to pay reparations demanded every white bitches' submission to being Black bred. The uppity woman's bruised breasts were now jiggling enticingly in response to Zacchaeus' relentless thrusting.

Just to emphasize the reality of her plight, Zacchaeus had laid the plastic case for her diaphragm on her pillow. He'd discovered the contraceptive device in her nightstand drawer while searching their bedroom for any more hidden weapons. The plastic case was now open to reveal that it wasn't empty. The open case was a reminder to the ravished white wife as well as her cuckolded husband that her diaphragm remained inside its case rather than inside her. The white women's fecund and hopefully still fertile womb remained totally unprotected as it awaited her imminent insemination.

Zacchaeus had taken the liberty of stripping the wounded husband naked after taking the precaution of handcuffing him to the arms of their cuck chair. Ironically, the white wife's cuckold now had a rampant erection. Zacchaeus had learned from recent experiences that this unexpected reaction to an unacceptable situation was amazingly normal.

Someone with more book learning than Zacchaeus had suggested that a cuckolded husband's body would instinctively prepare itself to inseminate their spouse after an interloper had had his way with her. By fucking his wife afterwards, the cuckold might have at least a forlorn hope that his own, inferior, white sperm might somehow be able to prevail over his Black rival's superior, African seed. Just think of it as evolution in action. Of course that was presuming that Zacchaeus would allow the white husband to have a turn with his wife. Fat chance!

Zacchaeus had to admit that hubby really wasn't that pathetic now that he was aroused. His pale penis might not be six inches long even when fully erect, but it was close to five-and-a-half. Zacchaeus' own bigger, black cock really wasn't quite eight inches long either, but it was definitely thicker, almost half again the girth of hubby's.

The white woman's anguished moans were a soul satisfying confirmation that Zacchaeus was more than she was accustomed to. She even glanced over towards her white husband. The sight of his merely respectable, almost average, circumcised, bloodied, white penis was a brutal confirmation of her new reality. The Black New World Order had arrived on Halloween night. Even worse, her loving husband's pale penis was now twitching with obviously escalating arousal in response to the sight of his loving wife being ravished by Zacchaeus' so much bigger, black cock. He restrained himself only to prolong the husband's humiliation as well as the white woman's anguish.

The sensation of the white wife's vagina spasming on Zacchaeus' bigger, black cock as she orgasmed against her will was the ultimate victory. The utter humiliation of the vanquished white couple pushed him over the edge. Even better, the respectable, racist lady was weeping with shame as her Black conqueror was ejaculating inside her. It was obvious that she could actually feel his semen surging forth to flood her obviously fecund, no doubt potentially fertile, unprotected womb with his superior, African sperm. The realization that she was now being involuntarily inseminated by a ghetto thug as her husband was compelled to watch was the ultimate humiliation for the lily white bitch.

Glancing over at the cuck chair, Zacchaeus was pleased to see that the cuck was also ejaculating. However; the poor bastard was spilling his own seed uselessly into the pool of blood that was already soaking into the cushion of the cuck chair rather than pumping it into his white wife's unprotected womb. Rather than inseminating his spouse so that he'd have at least a forlorn hope that his sperm might be victorious, he was forever staining the plush upholstery of their cuck chair with not merely the blood from his wounded thigh but the evidence of his own, ultimate humiliation.

Zacchaeus lingered with his big, black cock buried deep inside the lily white wife. He wanted to ensure that his semen would abide for a time in the white woman's womb. He wanted to give his negro sperm plenty of time to swim through her cervix to reach her womb before she might somehow manage to desperately flush his semen from her vagina.

Zacchaeus also exploited the opportunity to finally kiss the ravaged woman. At first the racist bitch resisted, averting her pale, thin lips from his much thicker, darker lips. Zacchaeus was unrelenting. Her efforts to evade the kiss were for naught. Soon Zacchaeus' lips were pressed against hers. Not long after that, he felt her lips reluctantly, tentatively parting. She was submitting by enabling his probing tongue to enter her mouth. Why not? He'd already inseminated her. His big, black cock remained buried deep inside her vagina to ensure that none of his seed might seep out. The bitch was obviously smart enough to know that she'd only anger him if she was stupid enough to bite.

The white woman's reluctant surrender to her fate inflamed Zacchaeus' lusts. He could feel his big, black cock swelling inside her until he was once again fully erect. As he began thrusting once again, the anguished white wife writhed beneath him as she once again struggled against the neckties that bound her to her marital bed. However; Zacchaeus could also feel her unbound legs instinctively encircling his hips to embrace him. Her cuckolded husband might somehow console himself with the delusional that his loyal spouse was struggling to resist this second violation. However; Zacchaeus knew otherwise. The ravished white wife was surrendering not only to an alpha male but her own lusts. She was moaning the Black Snake Moan as she was shamelessly pulling him closer and deeper. She was actually encouraging her ravisher. She was compelling his big, black cock to penetrate even deeper into her sex as her anguished husband was watching.

Zacchaeus might have restrained himself so as to once again prolong his pleasure. Unfortunately; the sounds of vehicles on the road became an unwelcome reminder that he was an unwelcome, secessionist interloper in loyalist territory. He was just starting to cum inside the bitch once again when he heard heavy, armored vehicles pulling onto the gravel driveway!

The Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents as well as Border Patrol had arrived! Zacchaeus paused just long enough to finish inseminating the white bitch before arising from between her thighs. The final dregs of his semen were dripping from his big, black cock as it slithered like a black snake from the white wife's sperm saturated vagina. The obvious evidence of her second, not so involuntary insemination provoked moans of anguish from her hapless husband. ICE and Border Patrol had arrived to late to save them. Even if Zacchaeus had failed to impregnate the white bitch, she as well as her husband would forever remember that they'd been compelled to submit to the Black New World Order.

With her hands bound to the headboard, the lily white wife writhed futilely on the bed as Zachariah arose. Unfortunately; there was no time for him to admire the way the zaftig woman's somewhat flabby, saggy tits jiggled in response to her struggles. He could spare merely a moment to contemplate the trickle of his semen that was seeping from her vagina in context of the Gold crucifix that nestled in her deep cleavage. Hopefully; the religious zealot would be to inhibited to take Plan Bee as a retroactive precaution. She might even be reluctant to get an abortion if Zachariah actually succeeded in impregnating her.

Grabbing his big, black Glock with the once illegal Glock switch that transformed the semiautomatic pistol into a fully automatic machine pistol, Zachariah prayed as he randomly sprayed a full, thirty-three round, extended capacity magazine of nine millimeter rounds out the window. Unfortunately; his prayers were unanswered. His random fusillade failed to hit any of the ICE and Border Patrol agents. Their somewhat more accurate return fire compelled him to retreat from the suddenly shattered window.

Grabbing the remaining two extra magazines for his big, black Glock, Zachariah ran from the master bedroom. He could feel his now somewhat flaccid, big, black cock slapping his thighs as he ran across the hallway then through what was obviously the couple's teenaged daughter's bedroom. He'd seen her photos that were so proudly displayed. Unfortunately; that younger, lily white bitch hadn't been home. The MAGA farmers must have sent their children West or South to more securely loyalist territory where they'd be safe from the depredations of marauding predators like Zacchaeus. The sound of the armored car's turret mounted, three barreled, twenty-millimeter, Gatling cannon firing encouraged Zach to flee. The powers that be at ICE were obviously fans of David Drake's Hammers Slammers stories. The Tribarrel thoroughly ventilated the roof off the house.

As the horrifying roar of the rapid fire cannon continued, Zacchaeus felt compelled to flee. Glass shattered as he jumped through the window. He could feel a shard cutting into his big, black cock as well as his scrotum. Fortunately; the vintage farmhouse had a classic, wrap around porch. He landed on the roof of the covered porch then tripped. He rolled down then off the sloped roof before falling to the ground.

It seemed that God was attempting to emphasize the hopelessness of Zacchaeus' plight. He landed on his twin brother. Zachariah had been unwary as well as unlucky. The cracker farm wife had ambushed Zach as he was inserting another reload magazine into his big, black Glock. Zacchaeus had been amazed by the sight of the vindictive, white bitch standing on her lawn protectively over her wounded husband with one of her big breasts exposed and still jiggling in response to the recoil as smoke was streaming from both barrels of her double barreled shotgun. She'd given Zachariah both barrels from such close range that the twin swarms of heavy buckshot had impacted almost as a pair of twenty millimeter cannon slugs. Zacchaeus had barely managed to grab the white bitch and subdue her by bitch slapping her lily white, tits before she could pick up her husband's fully automatic assault rifle.

Somehow Zacchaeus managed to hold onto his big, black Glock as well as his remaining pair of extra magazines as he struggled to stand. After ejecting the empty magazine and inserting a fully loaded magazine into the pistol grip, he released the slide to chamber a round as he began to run. Unfortunately; the darkness failed to conceal the bodies of his other fallen brothers.

Mom had been into the Bible. Now his younger brothers Zion, Zachery and Zeke lay in the barn yard along with their eldest brother, Zachariah. The bodies of a dozen other members of his ghetto gang also lay in the yard. The downstate crackers had given a good account of themselves against the marauding gang bangers before Zacchaeus managed to overpower the bitch.

Of course one of the brothers had no one but himself to blame. Marcus was one of those idiots who thought he looked cool with a pistol shoved into the waistband of his pants without a holster. Appendix carry was dangerous enough even if one wasn't carrying a Glock. The only safety on the double action only, striker fired pistol was the little lever on the trigger. Marcus had experienced a negligent discharge last year as he was shoving his Glock into the waistband of his pants. Aside from suffering from Glock walk as a result of his wounded thigh, he'd given himself a bad case of Glock cock. Marcus had experienced another negligent discharge during the gun battle. Now he was suffering from a horrific case of Glock no cock. His severed penis was bleeding out.

Zacchaeus might have lamented their decision to exfiltrate from the secessionist enclave of Chicago. However; they'd had no better choices. The loyalists had besieged the rebellious city. Their naval blockade had made it impossible to escape to what was left of Canada. Uncle Sam hadn't taken kindly to the European Union deploying nuclear missiles on its Northern border just as the Russians had objected to the Ukrainian Cossacks having nukes. The radioactive remnants of Ottawa and Montreal remained uninhabitable. Abiding anywhere in Quebec or Ontario wouldn't be healthy either.

Everyone who'd foolishly imagined that the Chicago Autonomous Zone might hold out hadn't understood the harsh realities of siege warfare. Like most cities, Chicago had at most only a few days worth of food in its grocery stores and barely a few weeks worth of food in its warehouses. The weeks of rioting, looting and burning had squandered much of the city's food reserves. The loyalists weren't wasting ammunition much less their troops trying to invade. It was so much easier to just starve out the insurrectionists.

The Mayor and his stooges had been smart enough to hoard food for themselves as well as the gang bangers that kept them in power. Most of the white people who hadn't starved to death or just been murdered were those who'd managed to escape. The few surviving white people of the Peoples Republic of Chicago were being hunted down so that they could be eaten.

Unfortunately; as the last of the food ran out, the mayor and his closest lackeys had favored the Somali immigrants over their own kin. They'd cut off supplies to the gang bangers of the 'hoods. Zacchaeus and his brothers had wisely escaped from the besieged city. They'd headed downstate where they'd imagined that the pickings would be easy.

Unfortunately; the darkness offered no concealment much less cover. ICE had issued night vision goggles to its goons. The remotely operated turret for the twenty-millimeter Gatling cannon was also equipped with infrared as well as light amplification cameras. The mighty oak tree that Zacchaeus tried to hide behind was literally sawn down by a prolonged, rapid fire burst of what must have been an assortment of armor piercing, high explosive and tracer rounds.

Zacchaeus ran for his life. He dropped down into a stream bed that offered not just concealment but cover. The baying of hounds provoked prayers that the shallow water would wash away his scent as well as cover his tracks. Unfortunately; the ICE agents weren't as dumb as people had once presumed. They could deduce where the fugitive had gone and where he was going. The open, freshly harvested corn fields would offer no concealment if he dated to climb out of the gully.

The sensations of his now fully flaccid, lacerated, black cock slapping his thighs as it swayed from side to side only emphasized just how vulnerable Zacchaeus felt. His lacerated scrotum was also swinging to and fro to slap his testicles painfully against his thighs to remind him of his peril. Everyone knew what ICE agents as well as Customs and Border Patrol not to mention FBI and BATF agents did to captured Black secessionist, rapists. Of course loyalist citizens, who were inevitably better armed as well as more proficient shooters than ghetto thugs, were even more brutal.

Unfortunately; Zacchaeus had been a football player, a tackle, as well as a wrestler and weightlifter during his years as an alleged college student. He'd kept himself in shape after the inglorious end of his brief career with the National Football League. However; he'd never been a sprinter much less a distance runner. He was soon struggling for every breath. While he was outrunning the ICE agents, he couldn't outrun their armored vehicles much less the Apache helicopter or the Warthog attack jet overhead. A short burst from the Warthog from Hell's seven barreled, thirty millimeter cannon tore up the muddy waters of the creek just ahead. He was thoroughly fucked and he knew it.

As the sounds of the baying hounds grew nearer, Zacchaeus began searching for a tree. Fortunately; a lone walnut tree was growing beside the ditch. Climbing out of the ditch, Zacchaeus climbed the tree. He was compelled to drop his Glock and spare magazine to free his hands so he could climb. He was barely in time. The hounds were soon circling the tree as they bayed and barked to announce their victory to their masters.

As the ICE and Border Patrol agents ran up to surround his tree, Zacchaeus was reminded of how their uniforms had evolved with the times. Once upon a time, ICE had focused its attentions on illegal immigrants, mostly from Latin America but also from Asia and Africa, who'd entered the United States illegally. Back then the ICE agents had favored military style, tactical gear to emphasize their official, militaristic status. However; their mission had changed in the aftermath of the twenty-twenty-eight election. Their new uniforms that so closely resembled white sheets with white hoods were intentionally reminiscent of the Ku Klux Klan. Most secessionists who refused to emigrate as an alternative to accepting becoming only probationary citizens for a dozen years as the price to reclaim their full citizenship were Black. With few exceptions the surviving secessionists were either Somali immigrants or native born African Americans. The new ICE uniforms were intended to provoke terror in the hearts of the Black secessionists.

The Republican victory had motivated certain states and local jurisdictions, Illinois among them, to secede from the Union. Thirty-three of the one-hundred-and-two counties of Illinois had previously voted to secede from the state when the morbidly obese governor declared that the State of Illinois was an independent nation. The vast majority of the rural counties in Illinois had been smart enough to recognize reality. They hadn't fucked around with formal referendums. They had promptly voted to immediately secede from the secessionist State of Illinois and remain loyal to the United States. Only the City of Chicago and its suburbs as well as the cities of Rockford and Springfield had remained secessionist. They'd not be able to hold out much longer.

The United States had asserted it's right to reclaim the territories of the various secessionists enclaves in the several States. The President had also decreed that the United States should impose reconstruction policies on the insurrectionists that intentionally emulated the reconstruction policies that had been imposed on the vanquished Confederacy after America's first Civil War. The Supreme Court of the United States had concurred with the President's reasoning. The inhabitants of the counties of secessionist states that had remained loyal would retain their rights as United States citizens. The inhabitants of the secessionist zones such as Chicago and its suburbs had effectively renounced their citizenship. They no longer had any rights. The surviving residents of secessionist jurisdictions were offered only two options. One option was to submit to being only probationary citizens for a period of a dozen years. Aside from being prohibited from voting or holding public office well as keeping and bearing arms, that be subjected to the same confiscatory taxation that they'd sought to impose on White people. The alternative was reparations combined with repatriation.

As the white clad, white hooded ICE and Border Patrol agents circled the tree, their leader called out to him. "Zacchaeus, come down from that tree. Surrender to accept repatriations as well as repatriation. Of course you will also subjected to summary judgement and certain penalties for the crimes that you've most recently committed. Alternatively; we'll let the hounds have their way with you. Which will it be boy?"

Zacchaeus understood that he was guilty of not merely aggravated assault, robbery and felony murder. He was guilty of raping not merely a white woman but raping a white man's white wife. He hadn't actually been caught in the act, but there were two white witnesses. He suddenly regretted allowing the white wife as well as her cuckolded white husband to live to testify against him. Unfortunately; he'd also cum inside the bitch, twice. Genetic fingerprinting would identify the semen as his. If Zachariah demanded a trial rather than accept summary judgment and punishment, his sentence upon certain conviction would be a prompt and certain death.

Although he understood what the penalties would be, Zachariah climbed down from the tree. He knew what punishment would soon be inflicted upon him, yet he surrendered. Several ICE agents seized Zachariah. They handcuffed his hands behind his back. Fortunately; they placed the noose around his feet rather than his head. They hoisted him up, hanging him by his ankles rather than his neck. Then they stripped him naked for his flogging. It was just like that scene in Django Unchained. However; there would be no last moment reprieve that might enable escape.

Zach could see the cuckolded, white farmer and his violated, white wife standing there not far from the whipping tree. The bullet that had missed his genitals had also missed his femoral artery. Merely a flesh wound had been inflicted on him. The violated White couple were watching his whipping with obvious glee. The cuckold's penis was actually getting erect again, revealing his sadistic arousal. Although the lily white wife had orgasmed repeatedly as Zacchaeus was fucking her, she now revealed no hint of ambivalence as she too savored the sight of his flogging.

Once they were satisfied that they'd whipped Zacchaeus far more than enough, it was time for the worst punishment. The ICE agent in charge approached. He was holding an instrument that might have been mistaken for a pair of bolt cutters or maybe a tree pruner. However; the jaws were obviously blunt rather than sharp and bent at a right angle. Most ranchers and sheep herders would recognize an emasculator. This tool was actually a more old fashioned emasculatome. The instrument was designed to crush rather than cut. It was the kinder, gentler method to castrate livestock!

Zacchaeus could offer only futile resistance as the ICE agent applied the instrument to his profoundly vulnerable scrotum. It clamped onto his two spermatic cords just above his testicles. Then the agent squeezed the handles together. The pain was even worse than Zach had imagined it might be, but he endured it. Although he screamed in agony, he didn't pass out. It was the knowledge that his testicles would soon whither like grapes on a severed vine that was truly painful. His penis would also whither until he could easily be mistaken for a White boy.

One of the ICE agents approached. "Don't forget your reparations voucher, boy." Zacchaeus didn't resist as the white robed, white hooded, jackbooted thug clamped the collar around his neck. The device resembled one of the props from an episode of vintage Star Trek. It even had a pair of triangular knobs on it.

Zach knew that his collar could inflict excruciating pain upon command. He also knew that his collar had a linear cutting charge embedded in it. Any attempt to remove it without the proper interface and access codes would detonate the collar, blowing his head off.

Zacchaeus' reparations collar also had a seven digit display that indicated the balance of his reparations account. He knew that his initial balance would be a million dollars. However; Uncle Sam paid negative interest on reparations accounts. The digits to the right were counting down as his account balance decreased at a negative interest rate of one percent per hour, compounded hourly.

The balance of Zacchaeus' reparations account would decline by one percent per hour until it was presented to a US Embassy or Consulate in some foreign country where it would be redeemed. No identification would be required to redeem his reparations voucher. The rules intentionally emulated the voting rules of the former Democrat strongholds.

Thanks to the magic of compound interest, the balance of Zacchaeus' reparations account would decline by half within three days. His account balance would be less than two-hundred-thousand within a week. Within two weeks, his account balance would be barely enough to buy a new car. After a while the digital display on Zacchaeus' reparations collar would count down to less than a dollar. Then the collar would detonate on its own. Zach suddenly realized that his ancestors might have been treated rather well if Uncle Sam had kept General Sherman's promise to give them forty acres of confiscated land and a mule.

Just to test the device or maybe to remind him, one of the ICE agents triggered Zacchaeus' reparations collar. It worked. The pain was even worse than the emasculatome. Unfortunately; there would be no beautiful, blue eyed, blonde bitch with gravity defying, titanic tits to teach Zacchaeus how to be a competitive thrall. Then again, he wasn't going to die for the amusement of the Gamesters of Triskellion either.

Hours later Zacchaeus arrived at the airport. The white robed, white hooded, white goons of the Transportation Security Administration fastened leg irons on his ankles. His leg irons were then chained to the leg irons of other prisoners to form a coffle. Only then did they unlock his handcuffs, but only to cuff his hands in front of him. He was grateful for that. His shoulders ached.

Of course all the prisoners were naked. All bore the wounds of a recent flogging. Zacchaeus noticed two men whose once black scrotums were turning blue. They too had suffered the now mandatory punishment for raping a white woman. They along with Zacchaeus could only hope that their shriveling testicles wouldn't become necrotic.

The prisoners were paraded through the terminal so that loyalist citizens could not just gaze upon them. People hurled curses and various things as well as spat upon them. Although the prisoners were the only passengers on the Boeing triple seven, the enormous plane was full to capacity. There were no bathroom breaks much less inflight meal service. Obviously; the airline just hosed out the piss and shit after each flight.

Many hours later, the plane landed. Zacchaeus knew that they had landed at America's airbase on Ascension Island. He also knew that they were barely a thousand miles from his ancestral homeland! The prisoners were separated into squads of about three dozen people, mostly men, then herded to smaller planes. With their twin engines mounted on their fuselages near their tails, even Zacchaeus recognized the vintage Em Dee series jet. They were compelled to board one of the jets via the airstairs at the tail.

The vintage airliner had obviously been retrofitted with benches that ran along each wall rather than normal seating. The prisoners were compelled to sit. There were no armrests. Padded yokes swung down from overhead to hug their shoulders and chests then locked in place. The seating reminded Zacchaeus of the rides at the amusement parks, but this plane obviously wasn't an amusement park ride. Once the passengers were secured, the guards secured them with not just seatbelts but five point harnesses as well.

The woman who emerged from the cockpit might have been mistaken for a stewardess. The platinum blonde's scandalously short skirt displayed a spectacular pair of legs. Her to short to be decent skirt even revealed not just her stocking tops but that she was going commando. Her obviously braless breasts were equally spectacular. Although her big tits couldn't defy gravity, the rhythm of their swinging and swaying as she inspected the passengers provoked primal instincts. She was all the more alluring because it was so obvious that she was one of those many white women who'd not just gone black in times past. She had indulged many times. Unfortunately; it was equally obvious that given the evolving political realities, the once forbidden fruit had lost its allure for her. The incessant rioting and insurrection had fundamentally transformed America. Unfortunately; the changes were not what Obama had hoped for. Race relations in America had been set back by a few centuries. She might have been inspecting livestock that were being delivered to the slaughterhouse.

The big breasted, blonde bitch returned to the cockpit to sit in the left seat. The white woman was obviously their pilot! The copilot was an Asian woman. Zacchaeus was suddenly overwhelmed with the fear that the pilots might be the beneficiaries of Diversity, Equity and Inclusion policies. They might have been certified to fly even though they weren't qualified!

The takeoff didn't ease Zacchaeus' fears. He'd heard somewhere that after Europe had transformed itself into the Caliphate, they'd ceased producing parts for Airbus aircraft much less exporting them to America. With a big chunk of America's airliner fleet grounded, many older aircraft had been refurbished. The old Mad Dogs had been retrofitted with new, higher bypass ratio turbofan engines that were more fuel efficient while also producing greater thrust. It felt like the Mad Dog was standing on its tail as it took off like a rocket. Obviously; the pilot knew how to fly. Unfortunately; the bitch was bat shit crazy!

About a couple hours later Zacchaeus could see the coast of Africa below them. The guards came by to put Oxygen masks on each of the prisoners. Then it suddenly became very cold in the cabin. The door in the pressure bulkhead at the tail opened and the airstairs was lowered. They were going to go Dee Bee Cooper!

The guards made no attempt to forcibly eject the passengers. Someone, probably that big breasted, blonde bitch of a pilot, must have just pushed a button. The padded yokes that restrained them suddenly swung up, releasing them except for their seat belts and shoulder straps. A drogue parachute was ejected from the tail. Then somehow the seat cushions that they were sitting on and strapped to were released! Zacchaeus was horrified when the prisoners on the far bench were suddenly pulled one by one towards the tail of the airplane then out the door and down the airstairs. A second drogue parachute was then deployed. He along with the remaining row of prisoners were ejected.

As he was freefalling towards the jungle below, Zacchaeus felt his leg irons releasing him. At least he was to die a free man! However; his hands were still cuffed at his waist and he remained seat belted and shoulder strapped to the seat cushions. Even worse, he was freezing his balls off and the subzero stratosphere as he was freefalling towards the jungle below.

Zacchaeus was certain that he was going to die. He fell for more than a couple of minutes as he was contemplating the jungle below. The trees seemed to be rushing up to smash him! Then he felt himself suddenly slowing. The seat cushions that he was belted and strapped to were parachutes! His pair of parachutes obviously deployed automatically. Although the prisoners had been dispersed as they were freefalling towards the jungle, Zacchaeus could see other pairs of parachutes, or sometimes only one, opening. He could see a couple of people continuing to freefall with no parachute. Obviously; Uncle Sam had bought their repatriation parachutes from the lowest bidder.

It was almost inevitable that Zacchaeus would land in a tree. Of course his twin parachutes got tangled in the branches. Fortunately; he didn't break any of his arms or legs. Unfortunately; it felt like he'd cracked a couple of ribs. For the second time in as many days, Zacchaeus was compelled to climb down from his tree but with his hands cuffed. As he stood at the base of the tree, he suddenly realized that in spite of his African ancestry, he didn't know a damn thing about how to survive in the African jungle. He didn't even know which direction he should walk to get out of the jungle. Fortunately; he remembered some white boy, boy scout telling him that one should just find a stream then follow it downhill. Eventually; you'd reach civilization.

Zacchaeus soon met several other repatriated Black people who'd been on the plane. They all agreed that they should stick together. They were smart enough to recognize that as a gang banger, Zach should be their leader even though he didn't know a damn thing about how to live in the jungle either.

Just to emphasize the horror of their situation, an explosion detonated in the trees above them. A severed head fell to land on the jungle floor just ahead. Obviously; someone from a previous repatriation flight hadn't been able to climb down from their tree. The balance of their reparations account had run out until it was less than a dollar. Then their reparations collar had detonated, cutting off their head!

The group came to a large clearing. It was obviously some farmer's field. They noticed a group of bare breasted, Black women tending the crops while a Black man armed with a spear and holding a shield looked on. For some reason Zacchaeus was wary. He hesitated to call out to the people or lead his small group towards the farmers.

As they waited and watched, they noticed a lone, naked, collared, obviously repatriated prisoner approaching the farmers. He was an elderly Black man who could barely shuffle along yet somehow, he'd survived. The old man tried to talk to the farmers. They obviously didn't understand. Equally obvious, they didn't give a damn! The man with the shield and the spear suddenly stabbed the old man. He was holding a knife when he bent down. When he stood up straight, he was holding not just the knife but the old man's severed head. After pulling the reparations collar off the stump of the old man's neck, the native contemptuously tossed aside the grizzled, gray haired, gray bearded head.

The native man with the spear and the sword mounted a motorcycle. Zacchaeus didn't recognize the brand, but it obviously wasn't European much less a Japanese rice rocket. It seemed to be built to be slow but sure transportation.

Zacchaeus suddenly understood. Uncle Sam had decreed that reparations collars were essentially bearer bonds. Anyone could redeem them by presenting them at an American Embassy or Consulate. No identification was needed. The procedure was as lax as the election laws in Chicago had once been. Every two years the dead had routinely arisen from their graves a few days after Halloween to vote, and always vote Democrat. The native man with the spear and sword was rushing off to the nearest American Embassy or Consulate to redeem the reparations collar. The former African Americans who routinely fell from the sky had become like manna from heaven to these native born Africans.

Now that they better understood their plight, Zacchaeus and his companions became more cautious. However; the knowledge that their reparations collars were counting down towards zero compelled them to keep moving. They managed to travel for a week before they were captured by a group of natives.

The elderly folks were promptly decapitated so that their collars could be removed. One of their captors was dispatched on a motorcycle with the collars to redeem them as promptly as possible. The more able bodied repatriates from America were marched through the jungle to a village where they were once again locked in leg irons then chained together to form a coffle. They were then compelled to board a bus.

Over a day later they arrived in a city. They were driven to what was obviously the American consulate. They were matched through the mission and presented to some official. Their repatriations collars were redeemed. However; the prisoners weren't unchained nor were their handcuffs removed. They could merely watch as their remaining reparations were paid to their captors!

After being herded into the bus again, the prisoners were driven North. During the next few days they drove along rutted tracks through jungle then savanna then desert. Zacchaeus finally realized that they were being driven to Morocco. Although they were starving when they got to the port, they'd been allowed water. They weren't dying. The bus drove onto a ferry that crossed the Straight of Gibraltar. They were in reconquered Spain!

Zacchaeus had actually learned Spanish while he was school. That language had been useful for dealing with rival gangs in the hood. However; it was obvious that few of the locals were speaking Spanish. Very few of the locals seemed to be native born Europeans. Most of those crackers had been exterminated as the Caliphate was being established. Most of the locals were Black. That was to be expected. Africans had maintained a much higher birth rate than Arabs. However; everyone seemed to be talking in Arabic rather than some African language. Blacks weren't the actual masters in the Black New World Order. Blacks were merely the shock troops that had subjugated then exterminated the indigenous Europeans.

Their bus drove Northeast for more than a day. They stayed clear of the radioactive ruins of Toulon. America had become just as intolerant of the French possessing nuclear weapons as the Russians had been of Ukraine's nuclear aspirations. America had also taken the liberty of hunting down and sinking French as well as British nuclear missile submarines at sea then nuking the subs that were in port.

Once they were in Germany, the prisoners were unloaded. They were herded into a clinic where they were presented for inspection by a doctor. After examining Zacchaeus Doctor Mengele spoke in broken English, "this specimen is exceptional. He might bring a great price as a harem guard. At a nod from the top goon, Zacchaeus was led into an examination room.

The examination table looked like something from a dungeon. After being compelled to recline on the table, Zacchaeus arms and legs were restrained by clamps. Then part of the table rose as he feet were lowered so that he was sitting up. Then Doctor Mengele pulled away the detachable portion of cushion at Zacchaeus' groin. What more could they do to him?

It turned out that Doctor Mengele could do even worse to him. Although no anesthesia or anesthetic was employed, the clamps that bound Zacchaeus to the table made it impossible for him to resist. He was compelled to watch as Doctor Mengele performed a total castration. The Doc explained that in ancient times, only one in ten young boys had survived the surgery to become a eunuch for a Sultan's harem. Thanks to the miracles of modern medicine, nine out of ten mature men were expected to survive having their penis as well as their testicles cut off. Zacchaeus was one of the unlucky ones who didn't die.

After being allowed to heal for a month, Zacchaeus was presented on the auction block. Doctor Mengele had explained that contrary to critical race mythology, Arabs had been enslaving Africans for millennia before Europeans began buying slaves from African slavers. It wasn't obvious only because the Arabs had not allowed their slaves to breed. Even men who were destined to be laborers rather harem guards were subjected to partial castration. Any children of the few African women who were kept as concubines were killed at birth.

Of course the Arabs had eagerly enslaved Europeans as well as Africans. Portions of the Mediterranean coast had become uninhabited as a result. Even the mighty British Empire had paid tribute to Arab pirates so that their ships could sail safely in the Mediterranean. Only the upstart Americans had asserted the right of freedom of navigation on the high seas.

Zacchaeus consoled himself with the thought that his life could be worse as he stood guard over the Sultan's harem. Although his name had been changed to Hassan, he was allowed plenty to eat. He was dressed in silk pantaloons and a silk vest along with silk slippers that had curved, pointed toes. Even better, he was allowed to wield an enormous, curved sword. Although the heavy blade was intentionally cumbersome so he would be vulnerable to a skilled swordsman who was armed with a more agile blade, it had proven to be a very effective weapon against African men who'd invaded the Sultan's harem. However; Zacchaeus missed his Big, Black Glock even more than he missed his Big, Black Cock.