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CHAPTER I

Tuesday dawned sharp and clear. It was the most glorious morning of the still-young year,
with the full Pink Moon looming ahead on the calendar. It was the type of day that made
one feel wholly and unequivocally exultant to be alive. By the end of the day, though,
Vicky would be dealt a pair of full scarlet moons of her own to ponder, and the joyfulness
of her continued daily existence would soon be called into question.

Tuesdays were the designated evenings for judicials to be meted out in the Post Change
(P.C.) community of Deerville. The weekly sessions took place in the public meeting room
of the library, on the square in the town centre, across the street from the domed and
spired World Women`s Web Ceremonium. The dreaded disciplining got underway at 21:15, as
soon as the librarians had shooed the last of the regular, nose-in-book patrons off the
premises. Then the women in the too eerily silent queues at the backdoor could be admitted
in privacy.

You could, of course, attend a Judy as a spectator whenever you wished. Some women
claimed it was educational to witness their neighbors and townswomen paying off the wages
of sin. And, if the truth be known, more than a few were secretly thrilled by the
voyeuristic aspects--the opportunity to view the spectacle of public corporal punishment.

Most gals, however, stayed as far away from the actual scene as they possibly could. If
you were to ask, not many admitted to fancying being one of the comfortably seated
audience members in the back of the chamber. And absolutely no gal would own up to a
yearning to be one of those at the front of the room with their sit-upons uncomfortably
bared for public viewing--and, even worse, for public chastisement.

Except if you had the misfortune to be a miscreant summoned to report, the only time in
your life it was mandatory to be in attendance at a judicial was during the school
"field trip" you took with your flowering-year classmates. The WWW (World
Women`s Web) Council felt that having impressionable 18-year-old girls witness the
adult-level consequences of misbehavior served as a useful and long-term--perhaps even
lifetime--deterrent.

Vicky knew the statistics: throughout their lives, about 40 percent of women successfully
managed to avoid being hauled in to be on the receiving end of a "Judy." And of
the 60 percent who were made to take one, only about half would subsequently be brought
back to receive bottom-justice a second time.

Graphic images from that one and only judicial session she had been made to witness
oh-so-many moons ago had been indelibly seared onto Vicky`s memory bank. Soon, however,
more than mere images would be indelibly seared into her consciousness--and behind. The
stocky, buxom, blonde flyvway engineer`s lower lip quivered as her mind speculated on what
lay in store for her in that ordinary meeting room tucked in behind the library`s stacks.

Vicky had heard of a few gals bringing along carefully selected lady friends to lend
support. Most, though, desired to get through their ordeals as independently and
anonymously as possible. Vicky fervently hoped none of her close acquaintances would be in
attendance tonight.

The etiquette attending to Judies was somewhat similar to that pertaining to
once-per-moon tryst dates: what a woman did on such an occasion was nobody`s business
except her own. Such were the mores of this female-dominant era. Now, thanks to rigorously
enforced gender-specific birth control, women outnumbered men by a safe 7-to-1 ratio. And,
under the codification of the World Women`s Web, all aspects of life were closely
monitored: community affairs were regulated by a bevy of strictures, both written and
unwritten.

Throughout the day Vicky had been recalling details from the only Judy she`d previously
witnessed--that one she`d been made to attend at the end of her adolescence long ago. She
wondered if they still followed all the same procedures. Did they still make you sit in a
little holding room off to the side, out of view, until your name was called? What was it
like hanging out with a bunch of other grown women all waiting to be soundly and publicly
spanked? What did one wear for the occasion? Did it actually matter one lick? Did they
still make you strip off whatever you had chosen to wear, all the way down to your
panties? These days, did you even get to retain your underwear? Then, when they led you
out for your paddling, did you still make your entrance in one of those short orange
disciplining smocks? She remembered those special garments vividly: they were little more
than sheer sleeveless blouses worn backwards. The `smack smocks` were specially designed,
however, to afford free and easy access to the wearer`s hindquarters--and they were a
vivid visual reminder of the wearer`s penitent status.

Vicky indulged herself in a little private conceit, a statement of (wished for, anyway)
sang-froid. She decided to couple her trip to receive correction with her regular biweekly
visit to select new library books. Arriving around 20:00, she had attempted to browse in
the stacks. However, it proved nearly impossible to focus her eyes on all the vertically
running book titles.

All-too-soon closing time was announced, and Vicky found herself standing at the end of
the checkout line clutching a solitary selection. It was just a trashy trysting novel.
Titled Doe Eyed, it was one of a series by a currently popular local Hoosier author. Oh
well, she thought, at least I`ll have something to read while I`m waiting my turn. Vicky
shivered despite the library`s rather too warm and stuffy air.

May, the bustlingly friendly elderly librarian standing behind the desk called out to her
cheerily, "And come back soon now, you hear, dear?"

"Oh," Vicky blurted out, without thinking, "I would, but, unfortunately,
I`m afraid I`m not to be allowed to leave just yet." Realizing her mistake in
revealing her pending plight to this evidently proper spinster, Vicky`s ears and cheeks
glowed reddish.

May shook her head and said, "Oh my. So you`re in for one this week, are you dear? I
don`t recall you putting in an appearance on any of our other recent programs. Is this
your first time, honey buns?"

Vicky rasped out ashamedly, "Yer, yes. Yes it will be, ma`am." She tried to
stifle the onset of sniffles, but she couldn`t help it. A salty tear trickled down over
her lip and onto her chin.

May replied briskly, "Well, it can`t be helped at this point. Now don`t you fret,
there`s nothing you can do about what`s about to happen to you. So, come along and enjoy
the ride ... bouncy as that ride may well be! Say, you do know that I`m Deerville`s Matron
of Ceremonies?"

"No! You? Really? Wow." Vicky looked over the librarian with sudden new
interest.

"That surprises you?" May`s eyes flashed, her chin set, and her mouth puckered
in a way that gave her age-wrinkled visage an altogether different appearance.

"Yes it does," Vicky admitted, blabbing out in explanation, "I`d always
imagined, no offense, ma`am, well, a more stern and imposing authority figure assuming
that role."

"Stern and imposing, eh? Perhaps you`ll reformulate your opinion of `May the Mousy
Librarian` after you`ve seen in action `May the Mother of All Matrons.` You see, I undergo
a personality transformation on my other night job. And, besides, part of the matron`s
duties involves shepherding first-time gals like you through their sentences. And it`s
okay for us to nurse and baby you gals just a little bit--at least after y`all have made
it bravely through.

"Oh, but dear me, you`ll see just how we do things in a few minutes. Here, let me
shut down the counter site. Then you and I can walk back together to the green room. It`ll
save you from having to go stand at the back of the line. Got your reporting pass?"

Vicky handed May the little pink slip of paper that had been issued to her at the end of
the fateful meeting with her SC--her WWW Supervisory Committee or `Mother Board.` She
wondered, though, what the authorities here would do if you forgot to bring yours? Surely
they wouldn`t deny you entrance to participate in the session? Fat chance of that!