The Shocking Story of
Corporal LeBloc

(Part One)

Corporal le Bloc was six-one, big and beefy, his thick bones covered with soft, stern flesh, pink skin pulled tightly around his musculature. He served his body as well as he did the French Army, hitting the weights in dedicated duty. As a result, he was one of the most fit members of his unit - a marching Cover Boy for the French Military.

The corporal loved military life. He counted the days before his time in the real war. The war came in late spring. A former French colony in tran-Africa had been invaded by a neighboring country by a fat pig of a strong man by the name of Buko. Corporal le Bloc tasted his first kill later that year. It felt remote and distant. The killing had about as much reality as the video games he played.

Only the grotesquely contorted-in-death corpse of the enemy reminded him of the human element.

But even after he ran his hands over the cool, smooth black skin of the dead man,

Dipped his fingers in the sticky red blood,

Smelled the dried piss and shit caking the dead man's pants, the corporal was unmoved. His mind pulsed with a dull, distant thump-a-thump-a-thump of a non-thinking DOG Soldier.

Corporal le Bloc and part of his unit were captured during a surprise raid near one of the border towns. The Corporal had heard horror stories of the prison camps in Buko-s land. But he also knew the white French soldiers were treated better than blacks in Buko's slave camps. The French soldiers often could be ransomed for a lot of money.

The local blacks had no chance of being ransomed, so, if the slave camps had no vacancies, the blacks were usually just slaughtered immediately after being paraded through Buko's capital city -

Usually in a spectacular mass executions - Hangings,

Beheadings -

Crucifixions -

Impalings -

Immolations ... all the men killed by the same method at each mass execution, but a different method for each spectacle.

Le Bloc was brought to the main prison camp near the capital. He arrived with other French soldiers, though none of the other Frenchmen were from le Bloc's unit.

Le Bloc and the others were stripped of their clothing.

The hard, pink bodies lined up in rows as the black guards sprayed delousing chemicals on their heads, in their arm pits and pubic hair, and the rest of their body hair, depending on whether the man had any.

The black guards tossed their prisoners small thong-like briefs made from old rags. The almost-nothing briefs would make the men very conspicous if they ever managed to escape. But that was a bit of over-kill since no white soldier had ever managed to escape, even long before Buke became le Homme.

Prisoners were kept busy. Their near-nude bodies often glistened under the broiling African sun. From dawn to dusk they worked, building an even more escape-proof, torture-centered prison from themselves.

Corporal le Bloc stood by his shovel, wiping the sweat out of his sparkling blue eyes. The sun had bleached his blond locks nearly white. Sweat covered his big, beefy body in a glossy coat, making his all-too-briefs that normally didn't cover the root of his cock now cling to the shaft and balls so close that it was obvious he, like most Frenchmen and unlike the Muslim blacks, was uncircumcised.

This morning, a black limousine drove by the working prisoners of war. A fat slob of a dictator, Buko, sat in the air conditioned cocoon. He spotted the sun-bleached blond young muscleman shoveling. Buko's eyes hungrily caressed every bulge and fold of the bronze-skinned demi-god, the wide, muscular shoulders, the clean sweep of his back, his large, fleshy bare buttocks, moist and tender.

Le Bloc was taken to the camp headquarter, luxurious by even French standards, truly luxurious by African standards. Le Bloc is told that he will be blessed by the presence of le Homme himself, His Imperial Magnificence, the President for Life, General Maximum Hiratio Buko, the third.