Community Service Ch. 14

I was shaking a bit now, too.

And shaken.

Prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo made my two Sock Room supervisors CSOs Karen and Linda seem like a couple of purring pussycats by comparison. And that was saying something.

After the briefest of fretful glances at each other, the two terrified cellmates said simultaneously, "Yes, officer Bella Donna!"

I watched, embarrassed for them.

But also in amazement, as, grabbing hold of the grey-painted bars of their cell, adeptly, in an obviously oft-practised deft movement they inserted their legs to their full extent into what I saw later were torpedo-tube like hollows. Accommodations, which facilitated hauling themselves in a sitting position so that their faces were brought right up close to the bars of their cell.

Having 'assumed the position', prisoners Mason and Sidwell didn't await further instruction.

Affixed to the bars, to either side and just above the height of their heads, were lever-operated ratcheted leather cuffs, and they slid their hands through the loosened cuffs unbidden.

Apparently, they had undergone this procedure several times before, and they knew better than to needlessly annoy Foot Service availing officers by putting them to the trouble of having to tell them what to do next.

Besides; the self-endangering duo apparently hoped to make quick amends for their "unpardonable laggardness" and "blatant disrespect", in displaying their previous prevaricating ill-ventured face-saving folderol, and to get back into officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo's good books.

Well, good luck with that.

Because where those two were concerned, I doubted the concept was applicable.

Other than that they were already standing in front of them, I could see evidenced no other indication of preference or particularity as officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo set about fastening the leather cuffs to the wrists of prisoners Mason and Sidwell, respectively. Levering the ratcheting mechanism three or four times, they exerted themselves, at last, to achieve maximum tightness.

Upon firmly securing their wrists, my two escorts turned their backs on the now securely fixed-in-place, forward-facing cellmates but remained standing, leaning back against the bars directly in front of the subdued, resigned pair.

It struck me as odd that inmates Mason and Sidwell's faces were behind officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo's legs at their mid-calf level. It seemed to be rather low, albeit the two luckless cellmates were sitting comfortlessly on their cell's cold and uncushioned smooth concrete floor.

Looking for an explanation for this curious conundrum, that was when I noticed that a ramp led down into the cell. It was this declination, then, that accounted for the slight elevation of the landing outside.

So, the ramp/elevated-landing configuration was not a constructional discrepancy but a deliberate design.

Not a structural slip-up, not a builder's faux pas, not an architectural mishap - but an inbuilt facilitation to Foot Service.

Prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo's next actions corroborated my incredulous conclusion.

Shucking free their right foot from their uniform issue flexible foam-rubber flip-flop, respectively prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo's work begrimed bare soles reached up behind them and protruded easefully and unerringly between the cell's bars to perch upon prisoners Mason and Sidwell's perfectly positioned and compliantly accommodating human-footrest faces.

It wasn't an easy thing to be made to watch.

To have to stand there, and be obliged to observe the heinous humiliation of two helpless men by their malicious advantage-taking female prison officer captors.

What made it all the more appalling, was the sheer nonchalant, no-big-deal casualness and complacency with which prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo perpetrated the hideous atrocious abuse.

And what made it all the more disturbing, was knowing that what I was witnessing was, in Greystone Prison, systemic.

What I was now seeing was 'normal'. Every-day. Routine. Commonplace.

The female prison officers here - the so-called Jailhouse Blues - enacted their AFP-approved perpetrations and indulged their perfidious predilections with a protective sense of no-comeback untouchability - of comforting impunity.

Despite my growing sense of unease, of concern - of threat, and of my too-thin insulation vulnerability - I couldn't just stand there, looking on, and say nothing of my outrage.

"This is a scandal, officer Bella Donna," I said, knowing as I said it that I was self-immersing in piping hot water.

"This is a crime, officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo, against male dignity. An unspeakable affront. An unconscionable ..."

But, from the bug-eyed, avid expressions on prisoners Mason and Sidwell's faces, as they stared up past prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo's shapely thighs, I was given cause to wonder if the two 'Jailhouse Blues' were wearing any panties under their uniform pale-blue denim short skirts.

Prison officer Bella Donna's next words confirmed my disbelieving suspicion.

"I can see what you are thinking, Community servant David ... and you are not wrong. Let the Governor down and end up in here as officer Analise's bitch, and you will soon see for yourself."

The sheer unabashed brazenness of officer Bella Donna's raunchy revelation left me lost for words.

Telling me much more than I needed or wanted to know, prison officer Billie Jo elucidated. And I believed everything she said, as she spoke matter-of-factly, convincingly, and all too graphically.

"Allowing prisoners to look up our skirts and showing them our pussies as they sniff, kiss, suck our toes, and tongue-bathe the soles of our feet as we use their faces for footrests is an integral part of their daily female-friendly conditioning.

"Finding sleep utterly impossible as they lie in their miserable bunks at night, kept awake by persistent and unshakable upskirt remembrances of our tantalisingly close but frustratingly untouchable and ever-unattainable charms and wiles, they deny themselves ... succour.

"But not for long.

"Because eventually, they succumb to the inevitable.

"Despite the prisoners' great dislike of us, relentlessly teased, titillated, and tormented beyond endurance by those long-lingering upskirt images - inevitably they capitulate.

"Despite their intense aversion to us, and loath beyond bearing to hit rock-bottom by sacrificing the last tatters of their self-esteem in self-imposed carnal devotion to us - inevitably they throw in the towel.

"Despite knowing that via their cell's night-vision enabled super-enhanced CCTV they are providing live entertainment for prison officers on Night Duty and recorded laughs for other Blues - inevitably they surrender.

"Frustrated beyond tolerance, prisoners turn at last to what is at best - at least, to real men - the grievously unsatisfying and short-lived remedial anodyne of last resort: self-administered succour.

"And so: in their so ashamedly but freely taking things in hand, and so reluctantly but willingly abusing and degrading themselves, and so begrudgingly but yet still consciously choosing to empty their balls in our honour ... they accord us the ultimate accolade.

"Now, take note, Community servant David. Watch, how assiduously prisoner Sidwell is applying himself. See, how diligent he is, in his Foot Service attentions and oral ministrations. Observe, his single-mindedness and intent focus upon the matter at hand, the importance of which, cannot be overstated - this is what I call respect ...

"And there is nothing - and I mean nothing - so sensually, so deliciously satisfying and gratifying as having the soles of one's hardworking dirty sweaty feet thoroughly tongue-bathed by a reluctantly obliging male."

Prison officer Bella Donna, now inserting the bottom of her round, reddish-pink right heel deeper into prisoner Mason's increasingly severely challenged mouth, said, "Unfortunately, we don't have time now to put prisoners Mason and Sidwell through anything even approaching their full repertoire of Foot Service functions."

"Please, officer Bella Donna. You needn't bother, on my-"

"So I'll just have prisoner Mason suck on the bottom of my heel - which is something I particularly enjoy.

"Especially, when performed by my bitch prisoner Lightwood. Who's capacities and capabilities I've had surgically and mechanically improved and enhanced permanently ... but that's another story.

"Putting men in their place, literally as well as symbolically, is one of the great satisfying joys of serving as an officer in Greystone Prison. Or, in fact, in any one of the AFP's new purpose-built female-friendly focused Correction and Rehabilitation institutions that, because of increased dissident elements, have recently come into service.

"So, just a quick, five-minute demonstration for you ... Nonetheless, I'm sure you get the idea, Community servant David. You are, after all, assigned to your hometown's Sock Room - at least for now, anyway."

I thought it was about time I reminded the Ice Queen of something.

"With respect, officer Bella Donna, you keep saying that: making veiled and unveiled references to officer Analise and hypothesising unrealistically as to my being incarcerated here and becoming her ... bitch. Excuse me, but I think you have forgotten what the Governor said. She said that if I let her down, she would use her influences to have me assigned to Canford town's Sock Room permanently - and I'm beginning to believe that actually, I would rather prefer that. Hellish as it is."

"I don't need you to remind me what Governor Monroe told you - Community servant David 007! Believe me. I am not without my own, considerable influence where Governor Monroe is concerned.

"Whenever I have made a direct request of her or whether I have merely planted a seed in her mind that has then germinated and flowered entirely to my satisfaction, she has always gladly given me or passively let me have my way.

"So what you might or might not rather prefer is immaterial.

"And you need to understand that - before you go too far! Because you are now stretching my patience with you to breaking-point: I am not accustomed to lippy backchat from disrespectful little whippersnappers who mistakenly consider themselves immune from my AFP-vested discretional powers of authority - and of on-the-spot punishment!

"You think I'm hypothesising unrealistically? Oh, you have no idea!

"And yet, you are a Sock Room community servant. Assigned, by your Authoritarian Female Party MP to earn your weekly government handouts by hand-washing your own townswomen's dirty socks!

"Don't you understand yet, Community servant David, you fathead?

"In these new, female-friendly times of the AFP era, anything could become of you.

"Any number, any type - limitless - female-friendly services and uses, might be availed of or made of you.

"And if you give me any further cause to decide that you will become officer Analise's bitch, officer Analise's bitch, you will become - believe it!"

Prison officer Billie Jo chipped in, "And then, because good-looking young men like you are always an instant popularity, not only will you be officer Analise's own, personal bitch, but one of the select go-to, extremely well-used foot-slave favourites of every officer in Greystone Prison - including Governor Monroe herself.

"And not only that," she told me. "But you will also be in heavy demand by prison officers and civilian staff alike for Table Service in our Staff Canteen ... which isn't what you think it is."

"And not only that, either," prison officer Bella Donna rejoined, waspishly.

"Because those Staff Canteen, Kitchen, Admin and other civilian female employees will also visit you in your cell.

"Perhaps during one of their rest breaks, or maybe merely as a pleasant passing-the-time interlude while waiting for the bus home or for their husband or boyfriend to come and pick them up at the end of the day, they will visit you.

"And like us prison officers, they also will take the greatest of pleasure in ordering you to assume the position - and then you will pander to each and every one of their own personal Foot Service proclivities.

"And, as officer Billie Jo says, most surely you will be regularly detailed to Table Service duties.

"If you let Governor Monroe down by failing to talk some sense into your rebellious girlfriend's head in conveying to her and her cellmate prisoner Middleton the Governor's - in my view, overgenerous deal - before you leave here today I will take you down to the Staff Canteen. To let you see for yourself, just exactly what prisoner-provided Table Service entails."

Prison officer Billie Jo said, with quiet menace, "Hellish as it is, did you say, Community servant David? The Sock Room? Believe me. If you do find yourself imprisoned here in Greystone, you will soon find yourself dreaming fondly of your Sock Room. Officer Bella Donna and I will ensure it.

"And trust me: That is not an unrealistic hypothesis, not a veiled or an unveiled threat - it is a promise and a guarantee. And, the more I think about officer Bella Donna's idea of exerting her influences to have you delivered to Analise ..."

Now I was well and truly rattled.

Scared.

Not for the first time, I asked myself why I couldn't just keep it zipped.

If my Sock Room 'safety' was, actually as tenuous and as easily alterable as officer Bella Donna was suggesting, then why antagonise the Ice Queen into making it her business to drag me into this hellhole and her domain ... and, Analise's?

Because now, I no longer doubted the veracity of her words: prison officer Bella Donna had convinced me beyond a shadow of a doubt now that she did, in fact, hold such discretional fate-changing powers of 'procurement' - and much else - in her hands.

Prisoners Mason and Sidwell having now given "a quick demonstration" of Foot Service for my benefit, prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo now returned their freshly mini-serviced right foot to the floor and their flip-flop.

Pushing the ratcheting mechanism's quick-release button and then freeing the leather cuffs from prisoner Mason's now starkly whitened wrists, prison officer Bella Donna told him frostily, "I wasn't happy with your Foot Service performance just now, Mason. Not happy at all. Your heart wasn't in it. Was it, Mason? You will receive twenty strokes of the cane."

"I ... I'm sorry, officer Bella Donna. So very sorry! I-I did my best! I swear! I-"

"I'm not interested in excuses. Only in performance. And if that sorry, lacklustre performance is your best, it will be a long time yet before you are fit to be released into female-friendly society. Much, much better, will be expected of you.

"I haven't the time now to cane your bared buttocks, Mason - it will have to wait until later. But I warn you now: you are going to suffer - Community servant David has put me in the right frame of mind for administering a good caning.

"For now, report to officer Siobhan at the Staff Canteen. She's on Door Duty today, with officer Avril.

"Tell officer Siobhan that I have sent you, to provide lunchtime Table Service - if the tables are already fully manned, at her discretion she can relieve and assign one of the prisoners to other duties to allow you to table-serve in his place instead.

"And explain to her why: As further punishment, for your woefully inadequate application and wholly unsatisfactory interpretation of Foot Service."

"I'm so, so sorry, officer Bella Donna!" wailed prisoner Mason. "I'm so very-"

"Shut up, Mason - you snivelling excuse for a man - and get moving! Unless you want me to make it thirty strokes - and with a dozen face-slaps thrown in as well for good measure! In fact, one more word out of you, and I'll put you on The Wheel. I've told you: Community servant David's irritating, annoying irksomeness has put me on a war footing!"

Having now uncuffed prisoner Sidwell's blood-circulation threatened wrists, still chuckling over her colleague Bella Donna's vengeful tirade, prison officer Billie Jo told him, "That was most satisfactory, Sidwell. Very enjoyable, in fact.

"Particularly pleasant, was your unstinting application to the toe-sucking aspect of tongue-bathing - such tremendous wholehearted suction! And the harder skin, on the ball of my foot, and on the bottom of my heel, though you occasioned me no discomfort, feels well tongue-scoured of any loose flakey dead skin and refreshingly deep-cleaned.

"Credit where credit's due: I'm quite satisfied that your heart was in it. You came up to standard. No complaints from me, Sidwell."

"Th-thank you, off-officer Billie Jo," stuttered prisoner Sidwell, his surprise apparently every bit as great as his relief. "It ... it's good to know, officer Billie Jo. I ... I-"

"Now as a reward, you can go along to the Staff Canteen and provide Table Service with your miserable cellmate. It'll save you from getting lonely, left all on your own in your cell. Won't it?"

"Um ... y-yes, officer Billie Jo," replied the crestfallen Sidwell. "And ... thank you."

Not for the first time, I wondered uneasily:

Just what the hell is 'Table Service'?

*

Clearly motivated by self-preservation, the prisoners in the next five cells we passed had already debunked from their wafer thin-mattressed excuses for beds or unfolded themselves out of their tubular framed canvas folding chairs, ready to respond should any instruction now be issued to them.

To a man, the haunted look in their dulled eyes, the premature lines etched into their prison-pallor faces, and their dejected air of downtrodden defeat and demoralisation identified these inmates as belonging to the more system-initiated longer serving category of prisoner.

Upon their hearing the first approaching slap-slap-slap-slapping sounds of flexible foam-rubber soled flip flops rapping against the bare heels of their cane-crazy, face-slap happy, ball-bust loving female prison officer wearers, like penitents in sackcloth and ashes, the grim-faced grey-garbed cell's inhabitants had all respectfully and reverently gone to their knees in homage.

And I knew beyond doubt that all of these deferentially kneeling inmates - some, actually pressing their hands together in a prayer-like attitude, and their lips moving, clearly mantra-ing, in hushed worship-like tones as though in complaisant honouring and placation of wicked temperamental Goddesses: 'Officer Bella Donna, Officer Billie Jo ... Officer Bella Donna, Officer Billie Jo ...' - had also satisfied prison officer Billie Jo's stated "minimum requirement": to stare out through the bars of their cells to the elevated landing, to where prison officers' feet would soon be appearing.

And so, unlike prisoners Mason and Sidwell (who were, clearly in the minority - but after having some very uncomfortable realities brought harshly home to them, were now clearly in the majority), officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo had no immediate bones to pick with these fearfully fawning felons.

Turning now into the southern landing of Level 5, it was then that I saw the two prison officers - one of them lustrously black-haired, her partner a very striking white-blonde and both of them gloriously suntanned - whose breathtaking, literally stunning beauty I have never seen equalled.

By comparison, they almost made their other drop-dead gorgeous Blue colleagues look like Plain Janes - and that was saying something.

Standing outside a cell midway down the south side of the landing, the two visions of almost heart-stopping loveliness were leaning back against the grey-painted bars.

Both of them were perched comfortably in that, ineffably nonchalant, one-legged foot-raised-behind-them, stance, that told me they were availing themselves of Foot Service.