The Jailhouse Blues Ch. 03

"Yes, Miss Siobhan. And that is all thanks to Miss Billie Jo. Believe me, I won't ever forget what she's done for me."

That uncertain look was back on prison officer Siobhan's face again, and she gave Ross a longer, and more searching look. It was as if there was something she couldn't quite put her finger on; but that she thought there was 'something', to put her finger on.

But again, Ross maintained a vague expression, and the moment passed.

Careful, Ross! I thought to myself. You are skating on very thin ice, mate!

"And actually, prisoner Chapman," continued prison officer Siobhan, her voice rising now both in volume and in pitch, "I know all about your Ball-Bust on the Wheel of Chastisement -- because I was a member of the caning-party!

"You probably don't remember, prisoner Chapman. But I was among those twelve prison officers, who each administered our allotted five strokes of the cane to your bare bottom, following each of officer Billie Jo's five admirable, beautifully administered between-the-legs barefoot kicks ... oh, right to your fully exposed testicles!

"I can still picture your dangling ball bag -- and your little tiny dick -- ha ha ha! Talk about being brought to heel! Heavens, I have never known such a commotion! What a lot of unseemly, unmanly caterwauling you made -- you weak, wimpy, pathetic little wretch!"

"Yes, Miss Siobhan," agreed Ross. "And I most certainly do remember you being in attendance, Miss Siobhan, as a member of Governor Monroe's twelve-officer caning-party."

"Do you really, prisoner Chapman? You have a long memory. Your Ball-Bust was, what ... three months ago, now?"

"Ah, yes, Miss Siobhan. But you live long in the memory."

"Do I, prisoner Chapman?"

"Yes, Miss Siobhan, you do. Your self-congratulatory cries of joyous, utmost satisfaction in your caning performance were very distinctive, Miss Siobhan. Quite unforgettable. You stood out from the crowd, Miss Siobhan. That's how I remember your own persuasive influences on me so vividly. You were extremely convincing. Thank you, Miss Siobhan. Since then, I have never said 'No' to Miss Billie Jo -- and not to any other prison officer, either.

"Believe me, Miss Siobhan, I fully recognise just exactly what you did for me that day. You played your part to the full. Aided by your expert assistance and timely support, Miss Billie Jo's task of decisively bringing me to heel, once and for all, was made all the easier for her.

"I assure you, Miss Siobhan, I do not underestimate or overvalue the contributory influence your own personal corrective-therapy input had on me: I fully appreciate it.

"At the time, I thanked you profusely, Miss Siobhan, for your priceless participation in my Ball-Bust chastisement. As I also thanked and expressed my sense of immense and undying indebtedness, to each of the other eleven members of the prison officer caning-party -- including Miss Billie Jo herself -- for all of their invaluable influences. But, thank you again, Miss Siobhan.

"Thank you again, Miss Siobhan. For helping me to see reason. For helping to expunge irrational thought from my mind. For helping Miss Billie Jo to put a thinking-cap on my head. For helping to show me the errors of my ways. For getting me to think straight -- think coherently and logically. So thank you, Miss Siobhan. But in truth, I can't ever thank you sufficiently, Miss Siobhan. So, thank you again. I mean, really, Miss Siobhan, I simply can't thank you—"

"Enough!" shouted prison officer Siobhan frostily, her thawed out manner icing up again. "Don't overegg the pudding, prisoner Chapman -- or I'll give you half a dozen more reasons to thank me!" she threatened, flexing her cane meaningfully as she glared at Ross with a lot less uncertainty now.

"Yes, Miss Siobhan," said Ross respectfully. "And thank you."

Prison officer Siobhan then said, "And what about you, prisoner Lightwood?"

"About me, Miss Siobhan?" I said respectfully.

"Um ... I must say, prisoner Lightwood, you really are a handsome, very good-looking young man."

"Thank you, Miss Siobhan," I said respectfully.

"Which is extremely bad news for you: you are going to be in exceptionally high demand for Foot Service.

"Us prison officers much prefer to have our feet serviced by the better-looking prisoners. It stands to reason: it's much nicer and more satisfying than having our feet all slobbered over by ugly-faced prisoners. It's only natural. So I can tell you right now, prisoner Lightwood: you are going to be a very popular foot-cleaner."

"As you say, Miss Siobhan," I said respectfully. "It's only natural."

"And the considerable demands made upon your services are likely to remain exceptionally high, prisoner Lightwood. Only very gradually, over time, as you go into decline, will the demands made upon you start to lessen and ease.

"Your great popularity only waning, as the shine of your sex-appeal slowly dulls, commensurate with the degrading and despoiling effects of chronic overuse, as the inexorable ravages of abusive daily wear and tear inevitably takes due toll on your heartbreaker, ladykiller attractiveness.

"You'll be especially popular, with the Levels-patrolling prison officers. They are on their feet for hours on end, and so of course it's understandable they like to have lots of tender-loving-care attention paid to their hardworking feet."

"Of course, Miss Siobhan," I said respectfully. "Very understandable."

"And I'll bet the Night Duty prison officers won't give you much peace, either, a hunk like you. I know I won't. So I am telling you now: you had better get used to the idea of losing a little sleep.

"In fact, do you know what I'm going to do, prisoner Lightwood, the next time I'm on Night Duty ...? The next time I'm on Night Duty, I'm going to come to your cell, order you to assume the position for Foot Service, and cuff your wrists to your cell's bars -- for the whole night. And each time I complete a patrol circuit, I'll let you look up my skirt and see my pussy, while you tongue-clean the soles of my feet."

"I ... I'm sure I'll look forward to it, Miss Siobhan."

"Oh, I'll give you something to look forward to, all right! I love the idea of causing very attractive young men like you, prisoner Lightwood, to jack off to me. That's what lights my fire. What do you think about that?"

"Well, Miss Siobhan, I, er—"

"I get off, prisoner Lightwood, to getting the likes of you to get off to me -- by your own hand. That's what I want! That's what I like! What do you think about that?"

"I, er ... Miss Siobhan, I—"

"Oh, I so love it! To me, getting the likes of you, you ... men-of-the-world types, to take things in hand, and to actually give up your ... self, is such a thrill! Such a delicious triumph! What do you think about that -- man of the world?"

"Miss Siobhan, I ... um—"

"Oh, it's such a kick! What a tribute, they pay me!

"Just the very thought, of making the likes of you, you ... ladies' men, bring yourself to orgasm -- because you want me so! It makes me, want to touch myself. It makes me, want to pleasure my self to orgasm. What do you think about that -- ladies' man?"

"Er, I—"

"That's what I want! That's what I like! That's what I love! It's what lights my fire!"

"Yes, Miss Siobhan," I said respectfully. "It's only natural."

"To think of me, in adoration, while they wank -- that's what I want! To think of me, in adulation, as they jerk off -- that's what I like! To think of me, as they helplessly pull and tug and yank away at themselves, in their miserable bunks at night -- that's what I love! It really gets my juices going!"

"Yes, Miss Siobhan," I said respectfully. "Very understandable."

"To masturbate -- for me! Yes! To actually milk themselves -- for me! To empty their balls, by their own hand -- for me! To self-spill their precious essence, in frenzied, lustful climax -- thinking about me! That's what gets me going, prisoner Lightwood."

"Yes, Miss Siobhan," I said respectfully. "I ... I quite understand."

"To so absolutely abuse themselves! To so utterly demean and degrade and disrespect themselves, in that undeniably sincere, and most ultimate of worshipful ways -- for me!"

"Yes, Miss Siobhan," I said respectfully. "It's ... only right."

"Oh, the sheer kick of it! To get those ... Casanova types, to actually self-sacrifice, in my honour! To devote to me, the most personal and precious gift a man can give ... Just as you will, prisoner Lightwood. In your miserable bunk at night. Won't you -- Casanova ...? I said won't you -- ladies' man? I said won't you -- man of the world?"

"Um, er ... I ... er—"

"Actually, prisoner Lightwood ... I wouldn't mind bagsing you for myself. And, of course -- ha ha! -- that will be my pet name for you: Casanova. Oh, how deliciously ironic!

"Because there's no place in Greystone Prison, for ladies' men. All of you heartbreaker, ladykiller, men of the world are now redundant. But mark my words, prisoner Lightwood: I'll cause you to self-orgasm, every night."

"Thank you, Miss Siobhan," I said respectfully. "That's ... good of you."

"I wasn't here yesterday, when you were admitted into the prison by officers Melanie and Natalie, to whom I am taking you now. It was one of my days off. Has ... has any prison officer bagsed you, yet? Are you anyone's bitch?"

"Um ... er, yes, Miss Siobhan," I said respectfully. "Prison officer Bella Donna's."

"What? BJ— I mean, officer Billie Jo, and officer Bella Donna? Well ... heaven help the pair of you, then."

"Thank you, Miss Siobhan," said Ross.

Prison officer Siobhan glared at Ross.

She might well have summarily administered a harsh, on the spot corporal punishment measure, such as the Standard Six. But having now arrived at the second flight of steps on our right-hand side, she held herself in check. Instead, prison officer Siobhan said, "Right then, you two. We're here ... and soon, prisoner Chapman, you won't be half so glib!"

Printed in black, on a white background, the sign bolted to the bare brick wall read: Row 2. Tables 4 - 6.

"Up these steps, prisoners Lightwood and Chapman. When you get to the top, continue along the narrow corridor to the end. You'll see two turn-offs: the first one, leading to the left, and signed 'Table Four', and then the second turn-off, leading to the right, and signed 'Table Five'. Go past both of them, and continue to where the corridor dead-ends, and is signed 'Table Six'.

What the hell? I thought ... but I think I knew. And it now occurred to me that, during the past three months, Ross must surely have been through this ritual many times before. He just hadn't gotten around to telling me about it yet.

"Got that, you two? It couldn't be simpler: Go to the top of the steps, and then follow your noses to the end of the narrow corridor."

"Yes, Miss Siobhan," Ross and I answered together.

"Where the narrow corridor dead-ends, you will see two more short flights of steps: one on the left, one on the right. These steps will take you to your respective locations.

"Prisoner Chapman, you'll take the steps on the left: they'll veer left, and then right. Prisoner Lightwood, you'll take the steps on the right: they'll veer right, and then left ... Are you still with me, bozos?"

"Yes, Miss Siobhan," Ross and I affirmed respectfully.

"There's no lighting up there, just the light spilling over from down here in this corridor. But you'll find it gets much lighter as you turn to climb the second section of those steps. Because by then you'll be within sight of the circular-shaped opening above you, like an open manhole. Continue up the steps, until you are standing on the top step, and your head is protruding through the hole ... And that's it.

"There, you will remain standing in position for as long as your services are required. Simply do exactly as you are instructed. Or, on occasion, it might be that just your mere presence there, is all that is required. On such occasions, I am sure you both know exactly where you are to respectfully focus your undivided attention, to demonstrate due propriety, where females are concerned ...?"

Ross and I understood, all right. We knew exactly where we were expected to focus our undivided attention. "Yes, Miss Siobhan," we said respectfully.

"It may or may not be for the lunchtime period only ... One, or even both of you may afterwards be left in-situ for an extended period: the Staff Canteen operates a between-meals prisoner skeleton-crew, to service the prison officers' staggered twenty-minute tea breaks."

"Yes, Miss Siobhan," said Ross and I respectfully.

"In fact, since for some reason we seem to be a bit undermanned today, on the Table Service front, the possibility can't be ruled out that in the event of there being no replacement prisoners for us to bring down to relieve you, the duration of your Table Service may be even further extended, into the prison officers' evening-meal time period.

"Later, either myself or officer Avril -- or, in the event that the duration of your Table Service has been further extended into the prison officers' evening-meal time period, another officer -- will return for you both, and you'll be called back down from your Table Service stations.

"Accordingly, you will then either be assigned to an afternoon work detail, or returned to your cell.

"In the latter case, as you will by then have missed your evening meal, you will be given some leftover food scraps from the kitchen -- which at least will be something rather better than the prisoners' supper you would otherwise have been served in your cell. Now ... up you go, then."

"Yes, Miss Siobhan," said Ross and me respectfully.

"And, thank you," added Ross.

"Prisoner Chapman! If I thought, for just one second, that you've been taking the ..."

But Ross was already ascending the dozen or so rough concrete steps, and I wasn't hanging about either.

By the time we reached the top of the walled-in steps, the light from the corridor down behind us had already grown much dimmer. But there was still enough light for us to see along to where the narrow corridor dead-ended, where brighter light was leaking down from another source.

I said, "Ross, mate. Why didn't you tell me, about—"

"No talking!" snapped prison officer Siobhan.

Stern faced, she was still watching us from the foot of the dozen or so rough concrete steps, down in the dimly lit corridor. "In Greystone Prison, that is not what your tongues are for! You will remain silent! Unless you want to feel the cut of my cane, before you provide Table Service? How about the Standard Six, prisoner Chapman ...?"

"We're very sorry, Miss Siobhan," said Ross respectfully.

Ross and I started along the close confines of this narrower, gloomier corridor. The bare brick walls pressed in on us claustrophobically, and the further we moved away from prison officer Siobhan down in the dimly lit corridor behind us, the gloomier it got, until we reached the midway point between the two sources of artificial light.

We duly passed the first turn-off, to the left, signed 'Table 4', and then the second turn-off, to the right, signed 'Table 5'. It was just as we reached the dead-end of the corridor and stepped into the light source filtering down from above, that we first began to hear the female voices; the intermingled sounds of conversations quite nearby.

In bold black letters on a white background, the sign on the bare brick wall in front of us read: 'Table 6'.

Now we saw the two flights of even narrower steps that prison officer Siobhan had instructed us to climb: the steps on the left, that Ross was to take, and the steps on the right, that I was to take.

Ross and I looked at each other; the same thoughts probably passing through both our minds.

We looked back the way we'd come ... At the far end of the corridor, down at the bottom of the dozen or so rough concrete steps, in the dimly lit corridor, prison officer Siobhan was no longer visible to us ... if she was still even there. Perhaps she had by now returned to her duties on-station, at the entrance doors of the Staff Canteen.

But then again ... perhaps she hadn't. So Ross and I merely gave each other a sympathetic nod, before turning to climb our respective flight of very narrow steps.

Just as prison officer Siobhan had said, the flight of steps I was taking veered first to the right, and then to the left.

As I climbed this first section of very narrow steps, the light gradually brightened, and the sounds of female voices got louder; their words becoming clearer. Snippets of conversations could now and then be discerned.

Ascending the second, left-veering section of steps, the sounds of female-voiced conversations grew louder still. Loud enough and clear enough now, to actually hear the gossipy, tittle-tattle nature of their girl-talk subject matter.

And now the light was shafting almost straight down on me, daylight bright ... For there, just a few steps further up, looking like a portal to another dimension, was the circular-shaped opening of the "manhole".

I stared up, at the open "manhole", listening to what I could pick up of the jailhouse blues' lunchtime babble ... and heard my name mentioned.

I hesitated.

It gave me pause, hearing my name being decried in such a defamatory manner ... Being decried in such a defamatory manner, by prison officers Melanie and Natalie!

But there was no putting it off.

With a resigned sigh, I climbed the few remaining steps, until finally I was standing on the top rough concrete step.

"Ah! Prisoner Lightwood! So here you are -- at long last!" announced prison officer Natalie upon seeing my head emerge through the Table Service "manhole", on her side of Table 6's centrally-supporting rounded chrome stand.

"And about time, too!" exclaimed prison officer Melanie. "Where have you been, prisoner Lightwood? Did you get lost? Officer Natalie and me have been waiting to start our first course appetiser -- our minestrone soup is getting cold. I was beginning to think you'd actually stood me and officer Natalie up!"

"Oh, I'm sure prisoner Lightwood wouldn't do that, Mel!" said prison officer Natalie. "It can't be every day, that he gets to dine in such scintillating company, can it?"

"And now, here comes our lunchtime companion, Jules!" came the voice of prison officer Nicolette, upon seeing Ross's head similarly emerging through Table 6's other "manhole", on her side of the dining table.

"Good!" said prison officer Julie. "Because dining just isn't the same, without Table Service."

The four jailhouse blues prison officers looked down on Ross and me, smirking at the sight of our floor-level heads protruding absurdly from the "manholes" on their respective sides of Table 6.

I understood now, why prison officer Siobhan had directed Ross and me to take our respective set of very narrow steps.

From my worm's-eye vantage point, looking around the Staff Canteen floor I could see a number of other prisoners' heads protruding through "manholes", as they also provided 'Table Service' for luncheoning jailhouse blue prison officers ... and, wait -- for some of the civilian office and catering staff, too!

Grinning gleefully, prison officer Melanie said to her three colleagues, "Well, now that we've got Table Service -- let's tuck in!"

On my side of Table 6's centrally-supporting rounded chrome stand, by special arrangement (pre-booking, and firsts bagsing), my floor-level face was directed towards prison officers Melanie and Natalie's bench seat. Prison officer Melanie's feet were in front and just to the right of my face, and prison officer Natalie's feet were in front and just to the left of my face.

Directly behind my head, positioned on the other side of Table 6's centrally-supporting rounded chrome stand, Ross's floor-level face was similarly directed towards prison officers Nicolette and Julie's bench seat. And from behind me I could hear those highly annoying slap slap slap slapping noises as prison officers Nicolette and Julie caused their thin-rubber soled flip flops to repeatedly slap against the bottoms of their bare heels.