The Jailhouse Blues Ch. 03

"Um ... Okay then, Siobhan. Well ... I'm going out to a nice, long lunch. See you later, Siobhan!" said Carer Bella Donna brightly.

As Carer Bella Donna headed out to enjoy a nice, long lunch, I listened to the unmistakable flip flop slapping 'signature' sounds of my own 'mistress' of fifty years. Listened, as her thin-rubber soled flip flops slap slap slap slapped against the bottoms of her bare heels as she walked briskly away.

"All right then, Leonard," said Carer Siobhan. "It's just the two of us ..." she said as she slid her feet from her pale-blue, thin-rubber soled flip flops. Beneath the seat of her 'throne', she presented the soles of her bare feet to me, side by side, and resting on the foam-rubber cushioned uppers of her flip flops.

"Now, Leonard ... You love me. I know you love me. So let me feel your loving lips. Show me just how much, you love me. How much you've always loved me ... Kiss."

"Yes, Miss Siobhan," I said respectfully, to the elevated, 'enthroned' carer.

Relatively speaking, it was very easy for me to kiss the soles of now Carer Siobhan's feet.

During fifty years in Greystone Prison as a 'jailhouse blue' prison officer, although she'd certainly had no qualms about hurting prisoners in her capacity as a 'rehabilitator', she had never done me any harm ... well, she had never actually physically hurt me.

Literally thousands of times, over those five deprived and depraved decades, resultant of her 'sexploitation' of my leg man's Achilles' heel, and her peekaboo up-skirt view teasings and titillations, prison officer Siobhan had caused me to 'worship' her.

Prison officer Siobhan had caused me to 'take things in hand'. Caused me to offer my devotions, in adoration. Caused me to self-release, in my miserable bunk at night, in adulation. Caused me to empty my balls; to milk myself dry -- thinking about her. Caused me to donate a ritual-like sacrificial token of my essence, in her honour. Caused me to 'willingly' bestow upon her, literally thousands of times ... the ultimate accolade.

But prison officer Siobhan had never caned me. She had never slapped my face. And she had certainly never Ball-Busted me. Come to that, she had never -- not nastily -- browbeaten me.

And so relatively speaking, it was very easy for me to kiss the expectantly proffered bare soles of now Carer Siobhan's feet.

Easy to kiss. In gratitude.

"Actually, I think I'll head out for lunch, too!" said Carer Billie Jo, informing her lounging co carers of her snap-decision intention.

Suddenly and carelessly removing her toes from Ross's long-excavated, generously capacious mouth, Carer Billie Jo snapped down at him, "Gummy: Head down!"

Upon Ross's obediently complying, pressing his forehead down into the luxury-weave carpeted floor beneath the velveteen seat of the throne above his head, Carer Billie Jo wiped her saliva-slick toes in Ross's still-full head of white hair.

Carer Billie Jo then slipped her Mediterranean-style feet back into her thin-rubber soled flip flops, and I listened to their unmistakable slap slap slap slapping signature sounds as she went chasing after Carer Bella Donna.

But the newly vacated 'throne' above Ross's Foot Service port wasn't left unoccupied for long ...

Ensconcing herself like a magnificent queen, above serf Ross, Carer Victoria promptly availed herself of the splendid seat of power.

Perhaps it was a testimony to the efficacies of the lotions and potions and face-creams she used, but the now Carer Victoria was still to all intents and purposes every bit the beautiful, too lovely for words young woman I'd first set eyes on, more than fifty years ago.

But, as I have long known, beauty is only skin-deep. Appearances can be deceptive ...

Carer Victoria slipped her feet from her pale-blue, thin-rubber soled flip flops. Reaching confidently back with her left foot under the seat of her throne, with the pads of her toes she uptilted the acquiescent Ross's chin; this minor adjustment to his forward-facing position, now affording her foot the most easeful angle of forced entry into his compliantly waiting mouth.

Assured in the knowledge of there being no danger to her bare feet from the scratching or scraping of teeth, Carer Victoria none too gently inserted her left foot, carelessly plunging her toes right into Ross's compliant, long-excavated, hazard-free mouth.

Carer Victoria thrust her invading, abusive left foot where there was always a warm welcome: into Ross's unresisting, toothless, extra-roomy mouth.

Forcing her marauding toes into the comfortable and commodious cavern of Ross's oral orifice, Carer Victoria plunged her foot deeper, and deeper, until her left foot was most of the way in, and Ross was left staring miserably at the bottom of her inches-way grimy, sweat-smudged bare heel.

But, the bottom of her inches-away grubby bare heel wasn't all, that the enthroned Carer Victoria, splendidly seated above his white-haired head, had left Ross staring at, with a fat, salty tear now welling up in his eye.

Carer Victoria was showing Ross, her ... anklet.

Fifty years ago, back in our cell in Greystone Prison, Ross had made a prediction: One day, prison officer (Vicky the vixen, the angel-faced ball-kicker) Victoria would have my balls -- literally.

Well ... what Ross was staring at now, in utter wretchedness, as the fat, salty tear spilled down his face, was yet another cruel reminder from Carer Victoria, of the error in his prediction.

Yet another cruel reminder, from Carer Victoria, of her 'ruination' of him.

Yet another cruel reminder, from Carer Victoria, of her ball-kicking his testicles to extinction ... on his twenty-fifth birthday.

And -- after prison officer Billie Jo's being permitted, by Governor Meredith Monroe, to personally perform the "minor op" -- of her claiming, and taking, her ... trophy.

I had to look away.

I had to avert my eyes, from the heartrending, ineffably sad sight.

The ineffably sad sight, of my friend of fifty years' abject defeat. The heartrending sight, of his unutterable dejection. And the sight, of now Carer Victoria's ... anklet.

Because, that could so easily have been me ... were it not for the protective 'patronage', of prison officer Bella Donna.

Because she: the then prison officer Bella Donna; the now Carer Bella Donna -- the then, now, and forever, Poison Ivy! -- wanted to keep me in good working order. So that I could 'worship'.

So that I could 'worship' her, and every other jailhouse blue prison officer, in Greystone Prison.

Returning my full and undivided attentions to the enthroned carer, splendidly seated above my head, I showed due propriety, where females are concerned.

I bowed my head extra-reverentially low, in humble, devotee-like obeisance. And respectfully, obediently, compliantly -- and in gratitude -- I kissed the expectantly proffered bare soles of Carer Siobhan's feet.

In gratitude.

And yes ... maybe there was a little love, too.

The End.