The Jailhouse Blues Ch. 02

My blood had turned to ice-water.

I remembered some of what my cellmate had told me of his own experience on the Wheel of Chastisement. Some of the... highlights of his own Ball-Bust "remedial therapy", administered by prison officer Billie Jo.

And now, prison officer Bella Donna was talking of administering to me, the very same "rebalancing therapy" corrective-punishment treatment.

Though there may have been a small number of occasions when I might possibly have deserved it, I'd never been kicked in the testicles before. Fortunately, up until now I had managed to avoid - or my aggrieved girlfriends had mercifully spared me - the... "ultimate sanction".

But I thought I had some idea of what the pain would be like. Some idea, of how it would actually feel. Some idea, of the sorts of anguishment I would go through, when prison officer Bella Donna kicked me in the testicles.

Or did I? How could I? How could I possibly?

Ross had told me it was "beyond imagining".

And, it hadn't been just one kick, either.

Ross had said he'd suffered kick, after kick, after kick, right between his restrained, widely-spread-apart legs, from prison officer Billie Jo. This, while other prison officers, taking it in turns, had expertly and mercilessly caned his bare bottom.

And as they did so, these caning-party prison officers of sadistic leanings had enthusiastically encouraged each other. Had applauded each other, in mutual appreciation. Had high-fived, in congratulation. Had whooped and whistled, in malicious excitement. Had laughed, giggled, tittered and chuckled, in malevolent merriment. Had leered, sneered and jeered, in derision. Had hooted with glee. In short: the assemblage of female prison officers had revelled, in the sad and sorry spectacle of his unspeakable misery.

And now, administered by prison officer Bella Donna, I was about to get a dose of the same 'therapeutic treatment'.

Prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo, I was sure, could now sense my fear, see my fear - smell my fear.

Prison officer Billie Jo, looking scornfully down on my cellmate, assuming the position for Foot Service for her, said with scathing, utter contempt, "As for you, prisoner Chapman, I'm done with you - for now. Get back to your bunk!"

Upon her freeing Ross's wrists from the restraints inset to the cell's bars, but before he could move, prison officer Billie Jo dealt a malicious back-heel kick to his nose; the wickedly executed blow from the bottom of her bare heel bringing a deluge of fresh tears of pain, hurt and humiliation to Ross's already red-rimmed and tear-crusted eyes. He seemed stunned; dizzied, by the cruelly delivered, deceptively powerful kick, as if the brutal blow had sent his brain sloshing about in his head, and he was waiting for it to resettle.

"I said move!" snapped prison officer Billie Jo impatiently when Ross failed to respond with instant obedience to her command. "Do as I tell you, you snivelling little specimen! And now! Do not make me repeat myself. Well...? Go on - Gummy! If you are not back beside your bunk within the next twenty seconds, you will receive ten strokes of my cane!"

Only a few minutes ago, I would have stood up for Ross. I would have protested bitterly at this outrage, and vehemently accosted prison officer Billie Jo in my cellmate's behalf.

But that was a few minutes ago.

I'd been slow on the uptake - but I was learning fast... Now, I kept my mouth firmly shut.

"Yes, Miss Billie Jo," replied Ross wretchedly. "And, thank you, Miss Billie Jo. Thank you, Miss Billie Jo, for allowing me to serve you. And for choosing me, to—"

With her astonishing capacity for spot-on mimicry, prison officer Billie Jo parodied cruelly, "'Yes, Miss Billie Jo. Thank you, Miss Billie Jo. Yes, Miss Billie Jo. Thank you, Miss Billie Jo'— Shut up, cretin!" she yelled, her attractive, olive-complexioned face contorted now with unrestrained aggression.

"Ha ha ha ha!" laughed prison officer Bella Donna, tickled pink at her colleague's cruel but startlingly accurate and true-to-life imitation of my cellmate's pathetic grovelling. "Ha ha ha ha! You are too much, BJ!"

"I don't want to listen to any more of your pathetic grovelling!" yelled prison officer Billie Jo, further haranguing my hapless cellmate. "You make me sick! Do you know that? No - you can really have no idea! Get back to your bunk, Mouse man. And quick - or I'll put you on the Wheel of Chastisement too! I've given up being nice to you! Given up being such a soft touch! Such a namby-pamby tenderheart! There'll be no more flowers-and-chocolates treatment from me, in future! So you had better get that inside your head - and fast! Because the moment you start slacking, Gummy, is the moment I'll be paying the Governor another visit!"

Half sob, half croak, Ross replied, "Yes, Miss Billie Jo. Anything you say, Miss Billie Jo. Whatever you want, Miss Billie—"

"I said shut up, you... my god, words fail me - Nincompoop! Get back beside your bunk. And now - Gummy! If I have to repeat myself again..."

With great alacrity my cellmate began extricating his legs from the floor-level torpedo-tube like holes under the cell's bars, into which they were fully inserted.

It was much more awkward and laborious to get out of the assuming-the-position position, I now saw as I sat and watched, than it was to get into it - especially so, in a panicky race against time.

I looked on anxiously as Ross strove desperately to beat prison officer Billie Jo's cruelly imposed deadline; surely at least half of her twenty-second time limit was up.

He'll never make it! I thought, concerned for my cellmate - he was about to get ten strokes of prison officer Billie Jo's cane!

I wanted to grab Ross's arms, and help him to get his legs out of those damned holes in the wall. Help him to quickly extricate himself, from his assuming-the-position position.

But I hesitated to do so.

I was wary as to how prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo would react: was this another, of their one-month-extra-prison-time incurring traps? I didn't want to risk it - couldn't afford to risk it. I had already fallen for them three times, thereby enabling prison officer Bella Donna to incrementally increase my original three-month sentence up to a soul-crushing six months.

So this time I kept my own counsel: I kept my mouth firmly shut, and stayed the hell out of it.

As it happened though, I needn't have worried. Ross's movements were quick and fluid and methodical - he'd obviously been getting in lots of practise - and he made the designated safety of the bunks just in time.

"Pity," said prison officer Billie Jo disappointedly. "I was just starting to look forward to a nice bit of caning practise."

"Don't worry, BJ," consoled prison officer Bella Donna. "You'll get plenty more opportunities."

Prison officer Bella Donna then detached the walkie-talkie radio that was clipped to the waistband of her uniform pale-blue short skirt. Boring into mine, her ice-blue eyes were unwavering; piercing, like mind-reading orbs as she spoke into her transmitter.

"Control... This is officer Bella Donna. I have a situation. Over."

There was a short burst of radio static, and then prison officer Natalie's voice came on. "This is Control... Yes, officer Bella Donna? What is your situation? Over."

"Control... Assistance required. Repeat: assistance required, at cell sixteen, Level One. Officer Natalie, could you please request the Governor to fast-track a Written Approval Order, in the name of prisoner Leonard Lightwood, for the Wheel of Chastisement? And send any available officers to assist officer Billie Jo and me in escorting prisoner Lightwood down to the gymnasium, in case he won't go quietly? Over."

After a brief pause, prison officer Natalie came back on. "Received, officer Bella Donna. Copy that. Stand by, please, for imminent confirmation on your Written Approval Order request. But assistance on way. Repeat: we have assistance on way. Officers Cassandra, Victoria, Louise and Cora are now proceeding with all speed to cell sixteen, Level One. Over and out."

Within seconds, the air came alive with the by now familiar, highly irritating and annoying slap slap slap slapping sound of flip flops; the multiple pairs of rapidly approaching thin-rubber soled flip flops, an ominous cacophony of slapping against the bare heels of their urgently proceeding female prison officer wearers.

Commingling, was the dreadful sound of the four rapidly responding Jailhouse Blues' canes. Rattling against the dark-grey painted bars of each prison cell they hurried past, the threatening sound of the prison officers' instruments of chastisement noisily resounded; their bamboo battle cry, reaching each and every part of the five Levels.

As one, prison officers Cassandra, Victoria, Louise and Cora arrived at cell 16 - and they made a formidable and intimidating sight. With their specially adapted, uniform regulation concave bob hairstyle, and wielding their instruments of deterrence and chastisement in an eager, ready-for-anything attitude, their demeanour was very distinctly no-nonsense and all business.

Slightly breathless from her on-the-double dash, prison officer Cassandra inquired with a frown on her face, "Bel? BJ? What's going down? We just got the call from Nat, requesting the four of us to get here at the double."

Prison officer Bella Donna replied, "Take it easy, Cassie. It's nothing that BJ and me couldn't handle on our own. It's just that I believe in using overwhelming force."

"Well, we can supply that!" hinted prison officer Louise, flexing her whippy bamboo cane. "I can always use an opportunity to hone my caning skills. And besides, a bit of practise never does any harm - except to the prisoners' backsides! Ha ha ha ha!"

"And you might get your chance, Lou... down in the gymnasium," responded prison officer Billie Jo meaningfully.

Prison officer Cora said, "What... there's going to be a Ball-Bust?"

Prison officer Bella Donna replied, her voice all matter-of-fact, "We're just awaiting the Governor's official endorsement. But yes, Cora, there's going to be a Ball-Bust. For prisoner Lightwood, here. He's not thinking straight - thinking coherently and logically. He said 'No' to me. As we speak, the necessary paperwork is being processed; the Governor is fast-tracking my requested Written Approval Order for the Wheel of Chastisement. As sponsor, I'll be the principle administrator of prisoner Lightwoods therapeutic treatment."

Prison officer Victoria, a leggy, early twenties, incredibly gorgeous blue-eyed blonde, who had only the previous week joined the 'Blues', said excitedly in her posh, Home Counties accent, "Oh, my gosh! Can I kick prisoner Lightwood in the balls, too? I've never kicked a man in the balls before. It must be the coolest thing! Of all of the amazing benefits of working here - great salary; long holidays; generous duvet-day allowance; medical insurance; fabulous early-retirement pension plan - it was the thing that most attracted me to the prison officer's job at Greystone Prison: The promise of opportunities to kick men where it hurts the most - and with no possible comebacks! Actually being able to kick them right in the goolies - and they can't do a thing about it! Not a thing! Ha ha ha ha! So... can I, do you think? Kick prisoner Lightwood in the balls?"

Prison officer Cassandra replied, "No, Vicky. I'm sorry, but no. The regulations clearly state that only the prison officer administering the Ball-Bust chastisement can perform the actual ball-kicking. That's what Bel meant, when she said that as sponsor she would be the 'principle' administrator of prisoner Lightwood's punishm— I mean, therapeutic treatment."

"Which is sort of the point, Vicky," prison officer Louise explained further. "It's to enable the particular prison officer in question - in this case, officer Bella Donna - to drive home the point, to the particular prisoner in question - in this case, prisoner Lightwood - that she is never to be defied, and always obeyed."

"Oh," said prison officer Victoria, the single word speaking volumes in crestfallen disappointment. "I know about the routine, every-day ball-kicking practise sessions, with the One-in-a-hundred prisoners. The prisoners who won't, and can't be made to submit to Foot Service. The unbreakable, ruined prisoners, with the nearly extinct balls. The Governor told me about those, during my interview. And I'm scheduled to attend one of those ball-kicking practise sessions tomorrow afternoon. But it won't be the same, kicking them in the balls, will it? I mean, if they are almost beyond hurting. Where's the fun in that?"

"Kicking the dead-nut One-in-a-hundred prisoners in the balls, during routine ball-kicking practise sessions, isn't the same, no," admitted prison officer Cora. "There's no denying that. Obviously, you don't get anything like the same level of satisfaction, that you get from administering an actual Ball-Bust treatment. Because I can tell you, Vicky: there's absolutely nothing - and I mean, nothing - that can compare with the wonderful sense of achievement you experience, when you see your own, personally administered Ball-Bust treatment curing a prisoner's irrational thinking."

"But it's still a hoot, Vicky," said prison officer Louise consolingly. "I mean, kicking the One-in-a-hundred's right in the plums, time and time again - and some of them will barely react! It's so funny. So it's still worthwhile, Vicky. And after all: practise makes perfect. Which you'll pretty much need to be, Vicky, before the Governor will endorse your performing an actual Ball-Bust treatment."

"But, not to worry, Vicky - you little vixen!" said prison officer Cora. "You'll get plenty of opportunities here, in Greystone prison, to kick men's 'live', unruined balls. Pretty soon, you'll be a seasoned ball-kicker yourself - and a quite expert one, too, I don't doubt!"

At that, prison officer Victoria's face brightened, and her face was incredibly lovely as she said, "Do you think, Cora?"

"Yes, I certainly do! But the idea of a Ball-Bust, Vicky, as Lou just alluded, is to bring stubborn, but treatable prisoners to heel. To get prisoners who at first say 'No' to us, like prisoner Lightwood, here, thinking straight - thinking coherently and logically. To give them a second chance - and even a third, and final chance, in the extremely unlikely event of that drastic action proving necessary. So the objective of the Ball-Bust treatment, Vicky, is to rehabilitate such... reluctant prisoners. To reform them. To cure them. Not to ruin them."

Prison officer Bella Donna added, "But, Vicky, the One-in-a-hundreds... well, they can't be cured. They just can't. With them, it's not about standing up for themselves as a man, because it's an intolerable affront to their manhood - though of course there is that, too, but such... alpha, female-domination averse males don't usually resist beyond a second Ball-Bust treatment. No. The actual, dyed-in-the-wool One-in-a-hundred's can't be made to submit to Foot Service, because it's anathema to them. They are simply just too grossed out by the idea. It's a mental thing. A phobia. When they say 'No' to us, they mean 'No'. And their minds can't be changed. They just can't cope with the thought, of assuming the position, and serving at our feet. The very idea of it is wholly repugnant to them. It's an insurmountable aversion to feet, that even all of our best-effort ball-kicking treatments can't overcome. They simply let us ruin them, in our attempts to cure them. It just doesn't matter, Vicky, how many times I, or BJ, or you might kick a One-in-a-hundred in the balls, he still won't submit to providing Foot Service."

Prison officer Billie Jo said, "So, Vicky, if those prisoners won't cooperate in the administering of their own therapeutic treatment - if they won't provide Foot Service for us, thereby laying down the necessary foundations for us to cure them of their improprieties, where females are concerned - until we finally move them on to another institution we just get some other uses out of them - such as ball-kicking practise."

Prison officer Victoria was about to reply again - no doubt, I thought, to take issue with what she'd just been told about the proclaimed 'invincibility' of the One-in-a-hundred prisoners - but then suddenly there was a crackle of static from the prison officers' radios as prison officer Natalie came back on-air. "This is Control... Control, calling officer Bella Donna. Over."

"Received, Control. This is officer Bella Donna. Over."

"Officer Bella Donna, you can go ahead. Repeat: you can go ahead, with prisoner Lightwood's prescribed therapeutic treatment. The Governor has granted your Written Approval Order request. As we speak, prison officers assigned to attend the Ball-Bust are readying the Wheel of Chastisement for use. As usual, the Governor herself will be presiding over the operation. The Governor has asked me to inform you that she has assigned you and the five officers with you to make up six of the caning-party's twelve-officer complement. You are clear to proceed, officer Bella Donna. Please escort prisoner Lightwood down to the gymnasium forthwith. Over and out."

"Yes!" exclaimed prison officer Billie Jo gleefully. "Okay, then. Let's get this show on the road!"

Prison officer Victoria looked me right in the eye... and she scared me. She really scared me.

I was pretty sure I wouldn't like what she was thinking. Wouldn't like, one little bit, just what was going on inside her lovely head.

Her angelic face was a picture of gleeful, barely controlled excitement. Of dark, delicious anticipation. The shining orbs of her bright blue eyes spoke of a cruel passion. Spoke, eloquently, of a sadistic yearning.

"Oh my gosh - yes! Let's!" she gushed enthusiastically in her posh, Home Counties accented, privileged-and-pampered sounding voice.

She wanted to get the show on the road, too.

* * *

Dear reader,

I invite you to accompany me.

Down to the basement of Greystone Prison, to the prison officers' gymnasium... to the Wheel of Chastisement...

Mob-handed, the six prison officers came crowding into cell 16, and Ross, who'd respectfully remained standing in the presence of prison officers, leaped up onto his top bunk like a baboon evading a pride of lions, and I offered no resistance as prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo handcuffed my wrists to theirs.

"We'll go down in the lift," said prison officer Bella Donna to her five colleagues. "It'll be a bit of a tight squeeze, but it can carry up to seven people at a pinch."

Handcuffed to prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo on either side of me, I was thus marched along Level 1's West Wing walkway to the nearest of the two lifts; prison officers Cassandra and Victoria led the way, while prison officers Louise and Cora fell into prisoner escort formation behind.

As it happened, the lift was already at Level 1, and the doors opened immediately upon prison officer Billie Jo pressing the Call button. "Come on, you," she told me, as she and prison officer Bella Donna entered the lift first. Prison officers Cassandra, Victoria, Louise and Cora followed. Once we were all shut in, prison officer Cora pressed the 'G' button that would take us down one Level to the Ground Floor.

With seven people in the lift, it was so cramped that, with prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo and myself at the back of the lift and facing towards the door, and the other four prison officers facing towards us, prison officer Victoria's not insubstantial breasts were pressing into my chest.

Smiling prettily, and with her face so close to mine that I could smell her sweet-scented breath, the angelic-looking prison officer Victoria told me as the lift slowly descended the one Floor, "I hope you defy me, prisoner Lightwood, when I come to you for Foot Service. I hope you say 'No' to me. I'll soon get you thinking straight - thinking coherently and logically. I'll kick your balls so hard, you'll think you've grown a couple of new Adam's apples."