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Corporal Jim Tanner had fucked up once too often. A man’s man, he liked nothing more than carousing off base, maybe scoring some pussy, and usually landing himself in a bare-knuckle brawl. Sprawled in the brig with heavy shackles weighting ankles and wrists, he waited, barefoot, stripped to the waist, and with his worn khakis opened at the fly, for the commencement of his sentence; fifty lashes strung up buck naked on the parade ground followed by a month under lock up. Though he tried not to show it, the handsome young corporal was scared shitless.
The door to his cell swung wide and the MP barked, ‘On your feet, soldier, and strip down- NOW!’ The military cop grinned wickedly, ‘You got yourself an appointment with a hungry coil of braided leather and there’s already a big crowd anxious for the show to commence.’ Jim Tanner slowly stood on suddenly rubbery legs and, swallowing hard, removed the rest of his clothing before being escorted into the glaring sunlight of the parade ground.