A first draft of this chapter was sent to me by a friend.  Though 
he wants to remain anonymous, he did ask me to revise it as I saw 
fit and then, if appropriate, to post it.  So here it is.

I hope the "legallady" would approve of it.




                            75% OFF
                                   
                              by

                     C. Lakewood and Friend



Part 5

OUR SAGA CONTINUES, AS THE "MALL CASE" HAS ITS ANTICIPATED DAY 
IN COURT.


It was morning in Doeville, the day of the opening of the 
notorious "Mall Case."  Well before 9:00 -- the appointed hour 
-- Judge Ashley Marsh stood inside the mall manager's office, 
admiring herself in a cheval glass she'd had moved in.  It was 
rather warm, and, not wanting anyone "to see her sweat," she 
had left off both her jacket and her blouse; pale blue bra and 
matching lace-trimmed camisole were more than enough under her 
black robe.  And she looked both stunningly attractive and crisply 
professional in that robe.  Timmy, her gofer, had cleaned and 
pressed it himself, to help ensure his boss's television debut 
would be a memorable one.  In fact, he had personally inspected 
the dais and the microphones, as well as the tables and chairs 
that would serve as a makeshift courtroom.  The raised stage, 
which normally held school choirs and various other mall 
entertainers, would today support Judge Ashley's temporary 
bench in an appropriately lofty position.

Ashley herself had regained her confidence during the night and 
was very much looking forward to this day's developments.  In an 
act of defiance, in fact, she had bundled up the trashy lingerie 
that she'd been manoeuvred into buying yesterday and dumped it 
into a United Charities clothing collection bin. 

She was pleased to see, by the office monitor, that Paula Evans and 
her entire news crew (including Ed Baxter, her hated co-anchor) 
were on hand, ready to broadcast the entire spectacle -- live -- 
as promised.

At exactly 9:00, the court bailiff called the proceedings to order 
and announced "the Honorable Ashley Marsh, presiding." 

Ashley walked out to a packed house.  Every chair, every bench, 
every bit of standing room was full.  The crowd, predominately 
women (very anxious women) cheered wildly at her arrival.  At 
the same time, most of the men in attendance were booing loudly.  
All this tumult created a surreal, carnival-like atmosphere.

Judge Ashley, mindful of the cameras, managed to gavel the crowd 
into order while maintaining an air of judicial calm.

After she brilliantly summarized the cause and nature of the 
hearing, she recognized Brittany Kelly, representing the 
plaintiff, for her opening argument.

A sometimes eloquent (and always tireless) speaker, Brittany went 
on and on concerning the issues -- both legal and moral.  She cited 
precedent after precedent.  She scornfully dissected and dismissed 
the draconian personal services contract.  And she clearly pointed 
out the obvious contradiction between the mall's exhibition of 
public nudity and current state law.

Brittany then called on Debbie Dalton, the first and only contest 
winner, to take the stand and describe, in exquisite detail, just 
what she had suffered.  Debbie, blushing furiously, looked as if 
she now thought her decision to testify had been a mistake.  At 
each mention of some embarrassing detail, the men present all 
applauded in approval.  After the third such outburst, Ashley 
threatened to clear all the men from the court, and Debbie's 
humiliating account proceeded on to its conclusion without 
further incident.

Then, one after another, a swarm of prominent women took the stand 
and voiced fear, contempt, and moral outrage (in varying 
proportions).

Judge Ashley was in heaven.  The whole hearing was unrolling 
without a hitch.  The women were knowledgeable and articulate, 
and their testimony was irresistible.  Ashley glanced at the 
cameras, pleased that probably every eye in the county was on 
HER hearing...and that it would be HER decision that would 
strike a major blow for womens' rights!

She had shrugged off the presence of the Sheriff, but she hadn't 
expected to see the vile Judge Hawthorn, as well...and looking so 
extremely placid, too.  If anything, the crusty old shyster should 
be fuming now.  She found his equanimity disquieting.  But then she 
remembered she was still on-camera and replaced her expression of 
apprehension with her best judicial scowl and acted as if she were 
actually listening to the women on the stand drone on and on.

Finally, after over two hours of testimony, all against the 
legality and morality of the contest, Ashley called for the 
mall's representative to present the defense.  

The mall manager chose to represent himself and the mall, and to 
forgo legal counsel.  Judge Ashley admonished the man for appearing 
to take these proceedings too lightly, adding that it was a fool 
who represented himself.  But she still denied Brittany's 
objections and allowed his testimony. 

Clearly, the man was out of his element and not used to public 
speaking.  He muttered his arguments, which were based largely 
on the precise letter of the contest rules (in micro-fine print) 
and on contractual rights.  He denied trying to cheat or fool 
anyone, but added that he had counted on the thoughtless greed 
of the town's women to make his advertising ploy a success.  As 
proof, he pointed out that sales on the day of Debbie's exposure 
had set a new single-day record.  He concluded by offering his 
opinion that good business was good for all.

In less than five minutes, the mall had rested its case.  As the 
mall manager left the stand, the assembled women booed mercilessly. 
Though Judge Ashley knew that, in fairness, she should admonish 
the women as she had the men earlier, she kept silent.  The 
"spontaneous" outburst was lengthy, but at last the place settled 
down, and Ashley knew that the moment of truth had arrived.

Normally, this would have been the point in the proceedings for the 
judge to announce a brief recess and give herself some time to at 
least appear that she was weighing the evidence prior to rendering 
her decision.  But, in this case, she made it quite clear that that 
would be unnecessary.  She paused dramatically and squared her 
shoulders.  But, just as she was about to wow the crowd and win 
the day for all women with her eloquent decision, a familiar voice 
arose from the crowd.

A manila folder in his hand, Judge Hawthorn was on his feet, asking 
permission to approach the bench.  Everyone went silent as Judge 
Ashley (surprised, but afraid of appearing too partial) allowed the 
older jurist to approach.

Hawthorn didn't bother going before the raised platform and 
speaking up to Ashley, but bounded heavily up the three steps 
and walked directly to her side.  Her only response was a 
clearly visible expression of shock.

He leaned forward, his hot breath smelling of brandy and cigars, 
extracted a small card from his folder, and placed it before 
Ashley.  As she looked down in horror at her signed contest entry, 
Hawthorn alluded to the career ramifications should it become known 
she had made a decision on a judicial matter in which she had a 
conflict of interest. 

He next put down a signed and notarized statement from Chambers, 
the mall parking lot guard, concerning yesterday's "incident."  
It was complete, down to the smallest lurid detail (Hawthorn had 
highlighted the best parts).  A photocopy of Ashley's ID was 
attached.  The old judge spoke briefly but meaningfully of "moral 
turpitude" and "conduct unbecoming...." 

And Ashley sat quietly, listening carefully...both to what was said 
and to what was implied. 

He then laid down an "Order of Recusal" and quietly suggested 
that she sign it.  He added another copy of Ashley's employment 
contract, identical to the one she had shredded just yesterday, 
and then a new form -- one boldly entitled "DISCIPLINARY ORDER" 
-- that sentenced the undersigned to a bare bottom paddling, 
Monday morning, from the Judge Hawthorn's beefy and malevolent 
secretary, Evelyn.  Ashley shuffled the papers nervously as if 
she could perform some magick on them that would turn them into 
Hallmark cards.  In the end, however, she could only stare down 
at them, wide-eyed and speechless, barely able to breathe.  Worse 
yet, every nuance was being caught, broadcast, and commented upon 
by Paula Evans and her partner, Ed Baxter.  Natural self-assurance 
prompted Paula to speculate on what was going on.  Throughout her 
clueless anchor-babble, however, she remained confident that the 
young feminist judge would send the crusty old male chauvinist 
packing and that the trial would continue its irresistible 
steamroller ride toward freeing the town's women from their 
unjust and humiliating contest obligations.
 
Ed, on the other hand, was beginning to have his doubts.  He 
observed Ashley's pale, sweat-slick face and knew there was 
trouble...trouble he was rather looking forward to....  

Brittany Kelly, after years of reading jurors' faces, also began to 
have misgivings.  An ominous chill ran down her spine, reminding 
her of the scanty underwear that she had bravely chosen to wear 
today, confident of the hearing's outcome.  Now, she was suddenly 
second-guessing that decision. 

Debbie, now clearly confused at the sudden halt to the procedings, 
leaned over to Brittany and asked what was happening.  Brittany 
distractedly shushed her client and waited tensely for Ashley to 
rally and regain her composure, signifying all would be well.  But 
she waited in vain.

Seconds later, as if in a trance, Ashley accepted Judge Hawthorn's 
pen and signed the required forms, effectively sealing her fate for 
the foreseeable future.  Trying to be brave, but realizing the 
enormity of what had just happened, she rose and quickly left the 
platform without pausing to offer any explanation.  She headed for 
the nearest exit, but was intercepted by both Timmy and Evelyn 
before she could make good her escape.

Judge Hawthorn sat down on Ashley's still-warm chair, smiled, and 
conferred with the bailiff, who called the hearing back to order 
and announced "the Honorable Henry H. Hawthorn now presiding."

Tersely, Judge Hawthorn thanked Judge Ashley for her fine work, 
noted her recusal, and explained that she would be on sabbatical 
and unavailable until further notice.  He added that he was ready 
to rule on the case without delay.

To a completely silent mall, the judge went on to point out that, 
although the women of the town may have issues to be settled with 
the mall, those issues were, aside from Debbie's experience, purely 
speculative.  Moreover, since no other woman had won the contest or 
enjoyed its rewards, no basis for a class-action lawsuit existed.  
Such a suit required multiple complainants, and, as of this 
morning, only one existed: Debbie Dalton.  Though he found that 
she herself might well have grounds for litigation, he was 
dismissing the frivolous class-action suit.  If, however, other 
women suffered similarly in the future, he had no problem dealing 
with those issues at a later date...say, perhaps, in six months or 
so.

The women emitted a collective groan.  They had held victory in 
their grasp, and then had lost it -- as some of them would soon be 
losing their clothes.  Many wept openly, and Marsha Dane, the 
arrogant MBA, threw an absolute fit.  Furious, Brittany Kelly 
busied herself with stuffing papers into her pretentious leather 
briefcase.  She not only felt angry and humiliated, but also 
believed that Ashley had failed them...turned her back on the 
town's women...literally betrayed them!

Paula Evans was beside herself.  With Paula inarticulate with rage, 
her co-anchor had taken over the broadcast, and she stood nearby, 
off-camera, throwing a full-blown tantrum.  She was livid and, like 
Brittany and Marsha, totally ignored Judge Hawthorn's repeated 
requests for order -- until he uttered the words "contempt of 
court."

He had the bailiff, the Sheriff, and one of the deputies bring the 
three women to stand before him.  The crowd grew quiet.

Though they stood silently before the judge, none of the women had 
the sense to hide her anger at his decision.  Judge Hawthorn, very 
"old school," demanded respect, especially from a lawyer -- 
particularly a FEMALE lawyer as snotty and self-absorbed as 
Brittany.  As for Paula Evans, he had long ago formed an intense 
dislike for the vacuously pompous anchorwoman.  And Marsha Dane, 
he knew, had used a feminist judge and two collusive attorneys to 
screw her husband in their divorce.  So he would like nothing more 
than to bring these little ladies down a few pegs, and they had 
just given him the opportunity.

While both those present and the immense TV audience looked on, 
Judge Hawthorn lectured the three professional women as if they 
were naughty little girls.  But this alone would not be enough to 
purge their contempt.  THAT would come presently...in the judge's 
temporary chambers (the mall manager's office).

As a murmur rippled through the crowd, Brittany, at least, was 
under no illusion about what was likely to happen to her.  She 
had certainly been around the courthouse long enough to know that 
when women were summoned to the judge's chambers, they tended to 
return teary-eyed and unable to sit.  (And Ashley, though mortified 
at her defeat, was nevertheless excited to imagine her rival being 
lead away for her long-overdue comeuppance.) 

Paula Evans, still clueless as to what awaited her, insisted that 
she stay miked during the closed-door session.  She was certain 
that the microphone would be her protection, forcing Hawthorn to 
cool down.  Moreover, regardless of what was said, it would surely 
be newsworthy and might possibly even put the elderly judge into 
an untenable position.

Evelyn, ever the thoughtful secretary, knew exactly what the judge 
would soon require and had it in her purse.  She left Ashley with 
Timmy and moved off toward the scene of the next act.  Ashley was 
relieved.  In all of this high drama, it had slipped her mind that, 
come Monday, Timmy would also be her superior, and so she'd be 
subject to HIS discipline, as well.  But Timmy (or "Mr. Thomasson" 
or "Sir," as she would soon learn to call him) had not forgotten; 
he smiled in anticipation and mentally drifted off, silently 
embroidering his plans....

		******************************           

Court having adjourned, the three women, the Sheriff, Evelyn, 
and the mall manager made their way into the office, followed 
nonchalantly by Judge Hawthorn, who closed the door behind him.  
Fortunately, though no one could see the goings-on, Paula had 
remained miked, and everyone, both at the mall and watching on 
television, heard every word that was uttered.

Judge Hawthorn continued verbally berating the women, at least 
one of whom was sniveling.  After a bit, to everyone's amazement, 
he ordered Paula to drape herself across his lap.  Providentially, 
what happened next was described, almost play-by-play, by Paula's 
comments.

"What, you can't spank me!  I'm a grown woman!
 
"I will not....  Let me up....  You can't do this, you....

"Stop that!  What-what are you doing?  You can't pull up my 
dress....  S-s-stop!

"No, not bare...please...not bare...."

The litany continued until the first swat.  Then there was silence, 
followed by an audible gasp and a howl of pain.

Outside, the crowd was riveted to every sound.  At the first 
smack, they roared in unison, "One!" 

By the fourth swat, Paula was clearly crying and in distress, yet 
she still had enough false bravado to issue threats and to follow 
each scream of pain with a most unladylike and unprofessional 
exclamation of the sort usually rendered in cartoons as something 
like "#@&!"

Seconds later, the door opened, and Evelyn was seen making her way 
to the nearby women's restroom, a fresh bar of soap in her hand.  
When she returned, the soap was glistening, and she might have 
paused in the office doorway a bit longer than was absolutely 
necessary (but many people did get a nice look at Paula's bare 
red bottom wagging to and fro under the judge's strap.  It was 
now swat number ten, and Paula was sobbing.  An instant later, 
she was heard to say, "Please, not the soap!"  But then she 
subsided into a series of gurgles. 

Now, each swat brought a much more subdued response: muffled 
shrieks and choked sobs.  By the twenty-fifth swat, Paula had 
apparently lost the soap, for she was whimpering, pleading for 
mercy...promising to be good, sobbing, "Oh please, please!" 
between sniffles.  It took her fully five minutes before she 
was aware that the spanking had ended.
 
The mall was dead silent for a moment.  Then the judge spoke.  
"Your turn, MIZ Kelly...."

Brittany resisted, though.  "You can't do this, Judge!  It's not 
legal!"

Hawthorn chuckled.  "You should have spent less time studying media 
relations and more time on learning state and local law.  According 
to the law, a judge can 'impose and carry out a sentence of 
corporal punishment upon unruly females of age 14 or older.'"

"B-but that's m-meant for juveniles...."

"There's no upper age limit specified.  Now, you just take off your 
panties, hand them to the Sheriff, and ask him -- politely! -- to 
take care of them for you.  Then get right on over here, and no 
more back-talk or I'll give you more than "Miz TV Girl" got.    

Again, the crowd counted each swat, and, again, they listened as 
the recipient went from threatening to promising and then to 
sobbing like any well-spanked little girl.

Eventually, Brittany had received her allotment, and it was 
Marsha's turn.

(A Stanford MBA and, since her divorce, a multi-millionaire and 
the sole owner of a large local software company, Marsha Dane was 
opinionated, self-important, and not nearly as smart as she thought 
she was.  As a businesswoman, she was grudgingly respected, but, as 
a human being, she was universally loathed.) 

"Please don't spank me," she whimpered.

"Me?  Oh, no, I don't intend to.  I'll be delegating that to your 
former husband.  I'm voiding the financial terms of your divorce 
settlement, on the grounds that it was obtained fraudulently.  And 
I'm ordering your assets frozen and control of the company turned 
over to him.  Until the matter is adjudicated, you will cease to be 
'President and CEO' and function instead as an -- THE -- 'assistant 
office girl trainee.'  The penthouse, the beach-front condo, the ski 
cabin, the flat in Mayfair, and the pied-a-terre in Paris are all 
under this court's control now.  Your company car is impounded, and 
your credit cards are worthless.  As a matter of fact, I wonder if 
you have even enough cash on hand to prevent the Sheriff arresting 
you for vagrancy...."    

"You can't DO that!" Marsha wailed.

Hawthorn snorted.  "It's amazing how people keep telling me that, 
and I keep doing it, anyway.  With no money, you still might be 
able to get some incompetent to take you on, pro bono, but I must 
tell you that, while I HAVE been reversed on appeal in my career, 
it's not happened often...and not lately." 

		******************************            

Meanwhile, Ashley had listened to Paula's spanking with rapt 
attention.  Her breathing had become labored, and she could 
feel her own juices dampening her panties and beginning to 
trickle down her thighs.  In the middle of Brittany's walloping, 
Ashley just couldn't stand it any more.  Unnoticed, she slipped 
away and hid behind a grove of potted palms.  She could see that 
everyone's attention was elsewhere, so she deftly slipped her 
finger up under her robe and skirt and slithered it inside her 
panties.  To the sounds of Hawthorn's strap smacking bare flesh 
and Brittany's accompanying cries as a sort of counterpoint, 
Ashley soon had herself on the verge of a monster orgasm.

Just as she was teetering on the very brink, a strong hand 
grasped her shoulder, and a familiar, stern voice said, "So, 
Your...uh...Honor, up to your old tricks, are you?"  It was 
Chambers, the security guard who had found her doing the very 
same thing just yesterday.  And she remembered he had warned 
her on that occasion: "If I ever catch you doing that again, 
I'll give you a good fanny-tanning."  She was speechless as 
she felt herself being dragged from her hiding place by her 
ear like a child, off toward that awful office where her 
rival was still howling.

To Ashley's relief, the guard pulled her on past the closed 
office door and into another room down the hall.  This door 
was marked "SECURITY."

The security guard released Ashley's ear and unceremoniously 
flipped her judicial robe up over her head.  He smiled at her 
already partially undressed state and yanked down her skirt.  
Undoing the shoulder-straps of bra and cami took a little longer, 
but he really didn't mind.  He was particularly intrigued by the 
very soggy crotch of her pale blue, French-cut panties.  The musky 
aroma caused his nose to twitch....

He dealt summarily with the rest of her clothes, and, when he 
uncovered her head again, all the Honorable Judge Ashley Marsh 
had on were her steel-rimmed spectacles, her Patek Philippe 
wristwatch, and her wrinkled black robe.

"You're quite a randy little cunt, aren't you, Your Honor?" the 
guard sneered.  Her lips moved, but no words came out.   

"Cat got your tongue?  In the MPs, we used to call that 'dumb 
insolence.'  And we didn't tolerate it."

He dragged her down across his knees.  "Pull up your robe, Judge.  
You're going to get it on the bare, just like those other gals."  
Whimpering softly and blushing hotly, Ashley obeyed.  He picked up 
his own spanking strap (standard mall equipment?) and didn't waste 
further time or words, but immediately began beating out a lively 
rhythm on her naked, upturned bottom.

She soon found her tongue.

With the sounds of Brittany's spanking still echoing about the 
mall, Ashley immediately began to appreciate what her rival was 
surely experiencing.  They were now sisters, in a sense.  Ashley 
did have the consolation that her punishment, at least, was 
private...or so she thought.  Unfortunately for her, the wall 
behind her was actually a vast window, through which someone in 
the office could view the parking lot area -- and vice versa.  As 
the hundreds of people slowly left the mall and made their way back 
to their cars, an almost endless procession filed slowly past the 
window and the unsuspecting jurist getting the thrashing of her 
life.  The glare from the afternoon sun was brutal, so not many 
actually noticed, but those who did loitered there in discreet 
appreciation.

Presently, Brittany Kelly, eyes puffy and face flushed, happened 
past that window.  By sheer luck, she paused to blow her nose and 
caught sight of Ashley's predicament.  With her own bottom burning, 
she knew she couldn't sit in her car anyway....  So she joined the 
loiterers -- after rapping sharply on the window, getting Ashley's 
attention, and shattering her illusion that the punishment was 
private.  As Ashley looked back over her shoulder in horror, she 
saw Brittany give the elderly security guard a broad smile and a 
thumbs-up...and then pull out her camera-phone.

Realizing that all these people had been watching her kick and 
scream and wriggle as the leather warmed her bare bottom, Ashley 
became even more frantic for it all to end.  Unfortunately for 
her, the guard knew his business.  Phase one of this punishment 
was barely half over.  It was going to be a protracted process.

On the other hand, with Paula Evans still sobbing and nursing 
her sore bottom as her co-anchor feigned shock and concern (yet 
continued to interview the disheveled anchorwoman), the local 
media didn't catch on to the judge's situation until very late.  
As the cameramen ran up to claim choice positions outside the 
office window, Brittany decided it was time for her to leave, 
and so she did.

With the cameras just about set to start rolling again, the kindly 
security guard closed the drapes with a wink, allowing Ashley to 
serve the rest of her corner time in private -- and depriving the 
vast television audience of the sight of the very attractive and 
newsworthy judge, standing in a corner, with her robe rolled up 
around her shoulders and her twitching red bottom uncensored by 
any blue dots, blurring, or digital masking.

It also allowed Ashley to maintain some tenuous deniability -- 
perhaps saving her credibility and therefore her career.  After 
all, she reflected, witnesses could be discredited, and there was 
no photographic evidence.  (The picture that Brittany took didn't 
count, because Ashley knew it was not for the immediate record; it 
was a chip that Brittany would squirrel away until the day when 
circumstances were right and cashing it would bring her the best 
return.)

Meanwhile, the guard was tucking Ashley's aromatic panties into his 
pocket and putting the rest of her discarded wardrobe into the 
charity clothing bin just outside the door.

		****************************** 

As the last of the stragglers were leaving the mall, an 
announcement was made over the PA (and repeated by Ed Baxter 
live), that three of the four women for the next "75% Off Sale" 
had been selected -- Brittany, Paula, and Marsha -- and that 
at least two of them (and probably all three) would be parading 
about sporting red fannies.  

This news was particularly devastating to Paula, who snarled, 
rather unprofessionally, "Turn off that damn camera!"

Brittany heard the dreadful announcement on the car radio on her 
way home...and immediately turned off the expressway and headed 
for the nearest bar.   

Marsha, meanwhile, was listening in shocked silence as her 
ex-husband explained the dress code, rules of deportment, and 
schedule of punishments as they applied to the new "assistant 
office girl trainee."

For her part, Ashley was glad she wasn't one of those named -- yet 
-- but she wasn't certain that she wouldn't still be visited in the 
morning by the Sheriff for the ride to the mall (stopping by the 
jail for a cavity search, as he had promised).  With a thrill, she 
wondered just how he and his minions (and the inmates) would react 
to the sight of HER red fanny.

That, however, was tomorrow's problem.  Right now her pussy was 
screaming for attention.  Oh, god!  If that guard would only 
leave for just a few minutes....

Or, considering that boner in his pants, maybe she could bribe 
him....

