Dead Soldiers

callmecaleb

A man is a tasty morsel.
Elite Member
Joined
Jan 13, 2012
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4,226
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Cannibal Heaven
Buck and I got the shit detail. As usual. We were the company fuck-ups, and as usual, Sarge was pissed at something we did. So, as usual, he assigned us clean-up after the battle. Our platoon had ambushed a small group of the enemy and now we had eight bodies to load up and bring back to camp.

Dead soldiers can be kind of messy. You know, lying in the dirt in grotesque positions, in puddles of blood, faces blown off, piss and shit in their pants, guts hanging out. The stench of battleground death can be overwhelming. Our job was to get the eight bodies into the truck, so we dragged them over one by one, until all eight laid next to the truck. “This is fun”, said Buck. “Fuckin’ A”, I said. “Look at that guy” he said, pointing to one of the bodies, a kid whose shirt had been blown off and whose guts were slopping out of his belly. Still, his face was angelic, young and smooth, like he was sleeping peacefully in his bed. Suddenly, Buck stomped on that sweet face. Over and over. I joined in, kicking from the side. We pounded the head until the skull cracked and his brains spilled out. And kept stomping until the head was crushed flat, covered with a mush that had been a brain. An eyeball stared up from the mess, like an egg sunny-side up.

When we stopped, we were both panting. My dick was hard and throbbing in my fatigues. I looked at Buck and saw the outline of his rigid dick. “You liked doing that.” I said, pointing at his crotch. He was embarrassed and could only say “Ahh. You know.” “We’re alone, Buck. Alone with eight dead soldiers. Nobody can see what we do with them, or to them, either.” “I suppose.” Without waiting for him to say anything more, I began to strip the clothes off the soldiers. Buck joined in and in a few minutes, eight naked dead men lay at our feet.

The bodies had only been killed a couple hours before and weren’t totally cold yet. Buck and I were just twenty and these guys were younger. Probably forced to join as the enemy was losing the war. Eight bodies, hard with muscle but smooth-skinned and lean. Looking around to be sure we were alone, I began to strip out of my uniform. I laid on one of them and rammed my dick into his dead ass and fucked my first corpse. As I banged away, I could feel a hard turd keeping me from going all the way in. But I came anyway. How could I not?

When I looked up, Buck was naked, too. He had just sliced off a guy’s cock, and was standing there holding his trophy, grinning. He held his bloody knife, looking down on the dickless corpse, ready for more action. But he had a dick in one hand and no pockets to put it in. He shrugged, put it between his teeth, dropped down and began to stab at the corpse. He must have pounded his knife into the body twenty, thirty times. Chest, belly, legs. Rolled him over, and slashed at the back and butt. Finally, exhausted, he stopped and looked at me. “I love stabbing a dead soldier.” “I’d like to stab a live soldier.” “Fuck, yeah.”

So, we began to mutilate the dead boys. Stomping, slashing, fucking. After an hour or so, all eight were nothing more than slabs of red meat, unrecognizable. We rested a bit and then tossed the bodies, and body parts, up into the truck bed. We climbed up to view our handiwork. I laid on top of the pile and began to hump the sloppy dead meat. Buck got down shoved his face into an open belly. When he lifted his face, it was covered with blood and smeared with gore. A piece of gut between his teeth. Staring at me, a quizzical look in his eyes. I stared back, my mouth agape, my tongue twitching. I leaned in and locked my lips on his, the gut sliding into my mouth. Buck lurched and in a moment, we were writhing on the pile. Two naked men making love in a truck bed filled with naked, mutilated corpses. Our passion evolved quickly into a frenzy of love-making mixed with---I don’t know—what?—cannibalism?-- I guess, because we both slithered over the pile of dead soldiers, sniffing, licking, chewing on dead man flesh. We threw body parts and gut slop at each other, kissed and consumed, and fucked the corpses and each other over and over again. Until our passion was spent, and we laid back, totally exhausted.

After a while, we put our uniforms back on. Thee was no way to clean ourselves up, or disguise what had happened in the truck bed. As we drove back, we talked about how pissed Sarge would be, and how our buddies would harass us for being perverts. Oh, well. Nothing we could do about it now. When we got back to camp, Sarge yelled at us for taking so long, then looked into the truck. His tone changed and he quietly said, “Get cleaned up. Good job.” When we got to the latrine and stripped to shower, all the guys stared at us but said nothing. But we were no longer the company fuck-ups. From then on, attitudes changed. Everyone knew what we had done with those eight corpses. They didn’t know what we did with each other, but they knew we had our way with the enemy soldiers. We were men to be envied. Admired. We were “somebody”.

War makes you do hideous things.
War allows you to do wonderful things.
 
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