The Jailhouse Blues Ch. 03

Peering down under the dining table at me, licking her lips like the cat who'd just eaten the double cream, prison officer Melanie purred, "Mmmm! That Neapolitan ice-cream with strawberries was just divine! Officer Natalie and me really enjoyed our third course. Did you, prisoner Lightwood? How was your third course? Was it nice? Hmm?"

"Y-yes, thank you, Miss Melanie," I said respectfully. "It ... it was very nice."

"Wonderful!" exclaimed prison officer Melanie. "I am so glad you enjoyed it, prisoner Lightwood. It's not every prisoner, you know, who enjoys the flavours of our dirty, sweaty feet."

"That's right!" agreed prison officer Natalie. "The tastes of prison officers' dirty, sweaty feet aren't everyone's cup of tea."

"Well, prisoner Lightwood," said prison officer Melanie agreeably. "Now it's time for our fourth course, to finish. Officer Natalie and me are having Italian-style coffee, with demerara sugar and fresh cream ... Ready for your fourth course, now, to finish? Hmm, prisoner Lightwood?" inquired prison officer Melanie with mock pleasantness. "Well, it's coming right up: Licking clean the foam-rubber uppers of our dirty, sweat-stained flip flops ... Enjoy!"

As soon as prison officer Melanie had wished me a pleasant fourth course, to finish, with their toes prison officers Melanie and Natalie positioned their thin-rubber soled flip flops right under my face, where I could bow my head down low to tongue-clean them.

"And don't forget the toe posts!" prison officer Melanie reminded me.

"No, Miss Melanie," I said respectfully. "I won't forget."

Upon which, prison officers Melanie and Natalie's faces disappeared from view ...

Right under my nose, I could smell both the unpleasant acrid and tangy, and the powerfully pungent cheesy fumes, that were emanating from prison officers Natalie and Melanie's well-worn flip flops.

But the smells were nothing, when compared to the tastes ...

The awful, terrible tastes of prison officers Melanie and Natalie's Greystone Prison issue pale-blue, thin-rubber soled flip flops, came as another heinous shock to the system: an unspeakable melange, of shockingly horrible, gut-churning flavours that my tongue seemed to absorb like a sponge.

On their well-worn flip flops' spongy foam-rubber uppers, the appalling amalgamation of dirty, sweaty, filthy, soles-of-the-feet flavours were highly concentrated.

On the foam-rubber uppers of prison officer Natalie's flip flops, I experienced such a rancid tang, that was not just unbelievably unpleasant, but so sharply acidic on the tongue as to imbue a sensation of corrosive burning.

To make matters even worse, my hideous task was made all the harder, and all the more stressful and distressing to perform, from now having to support the combined weight of prison officers Melanie and Natalie's recumbent legs and relaxing feet; their ankles frequently recrossing, as they used the back of my head, the back of my neck, and my shoulders as their under-the-table footrests.

And so it was, that, to the accompanying sounds of prison officers Melanie and Natalie's coffee cups chinking against their saucers as they enjoyed their fourth course Italian-style coffee with demerara sugar and fresh cream, to finish, I licked clean ... as best as I could, the foam-rubber uppers of prison officers Melanie and Natalie's cheesy and vinegary, dirty, sweaty, filthy flip flops -- toe-posts included.

And, I had no choice, as prison officers Melanie and Natalie used the back of my head, the back of my neck, and my shoulders as their conveniently positioned under-the-table footrest, but to listen to and endure, right up close, the incessant, mega maddening sounds of their flexible thin-rubber soled flip flops, slap slap slap slap slapping away against the bottoms of their bare heels.

This, which to me seemed the most debasing and degrading, the most belittling, the most humiliating of my four-course afflictions, seemed to go on for a lot longer than it actually did: for just as long as it took prison officers Melanie and Natalie to consume their fourth course Italian-style coffee with demerara sugar and fresh cream, to finish.

Peering down under the dining table at me, licking her lips in pleasure and satisfaction, prison officer Natalie said, "Mmmm! That Italian-style coffee with demerara sugar and fresh cream, was dreamy! Officer Melanie and me really enjoyed our fourth course, to finish. Did you, prisoner Lightwood? How was your fourth course, to finish? Was it nice? Hmm?"

"It ... it was very nice, Miss Natalie," I said respectfully. "Thank you."

"Good!" exclaimed prison officer Natalie. "I am so glad you enjoyed your fourth course, to finish, prisoner Lightwood. Because it's not every prisoner, who is so appreciative. It's not every prisoner, who has such discerning taste: a taste, for licking prison officers' dirty, sweaty, stinky flip flops -- toe posts included. No, it isn't! It's not every prisoner, who finds them so agreeably flavoursome, we find."

"That's right" agreed prison officer Melanie. "Our flip flops aren't to every prisoner's taste!"

"Well ... I enjoyed them, Miss Melanie," I said respectfully. "Thank you."

"So ... I suppose you'd like us to release you from Table Service now, wouldn't you, prisoner Lightwood?" said prison officer Melanie.

"Maybe let you go and do a bit of light, hands-on work, down in the Foot Massage Room?" said prison officer Natalie. "Or assist prison officers' fitness and training exercises, down in the gymnasium?"

"Or maybe even just let you go back to your comfy little cell? For a nice, after-lunch nap? Hmm ...?" said prison officer Melanie. "You know, to let your stomach settle? I bet you could use a nice little lie-down now, couldn't you? After your splendid four-course lunch?"

"Yes, Miss Melanie. Thank you," I said respectfully. "Yes, I would like that."

"Well, not a chance, prisoner Lightwood!" said prison officer Natalie nastily. "Not a chance!"

"Do you remember yesterday, in the Security Checkpoint building?" asked prison officer Melanie. "When you were grossly disrespectful towards officer Natalie and me, and we said that you needed a bit of straightening out? And that, today, we were going to teach you a lesson? Well, guess what? We have arranged to have you left here, in-service," said prison officer Melanie maliciously.

"Governor Monroe took some persuading," prison officer Natalie told me. "She thought you had already suffered enough, when officer Bella Donna Ball-Busted you on the Wheel of Chastisement, for saying 'No' to her. But officer Melanie and me managed to convince her that your insolent attitude towards us, too, needed to be promptly addressed. To nip in the bud your disrespectful, back-talking behaviour ... So now, courtesy of officer Melanie and me, you are going to remain exactly where you are, prisoner Lightwood: Right through the remainder of lunchtime, through the staggered afternoon tea-breaks, and until after the prison officers' evening-meal break period is over, you are going to continue providing Table Service."

"Yes, that's right. Do you see now, prisoner Lightwood?" said prison officer Melanie. "This is what you can bring down upon yourself, when your behaviour towards prison officers is less than impeccable. So now, by my estimations you are going to be standing there, performing Table Service, for ... maybe the next seven or eight hours."

"Well, prisoner Lightwood," said prison officer Natalie, with a mock regretful sigh. "Officer Melanie and me must be getting along back to work now -- there's no rest for the wicked! Thank you for a lovely meal. We must do it again soon!"

"Yes, absolutely!" agreed prison officer Melanie. "We certainly must. It's been delightful. But unfortunately we must leave the pleasure of your company now, prisoner Lightwood. But rest assured: you will be seeing plenty of officer Natalie and me in the future. Maybe it'll even be as soon as this afternoon; if you happen to be vacant, we'll have you provide Table Service for us again, during our twenty-minute tea break."

"So, we'll leave you now, prisoner Lightwood," said prison officer Natalie. "We'll leave you to get on with your Table Service."

"Ah ... officer Siobhan is signalling over to us," said prison officer Melanie. "There are four more diners, waiting to take our places at Table Six. So of course you will provide Table Service for them next, prisoner Lightwood."

"Yes, Miss Melanie," I said respectfully. "Of course."

"So we'll bid you goodbye ... for now," said prison officer Natalie. "Until we have the pleasure of your company again."

"Yes. Goodbye, Miss Natalie. Goodbye, Miss Melanie," I said respectfully. "And ... thank you."

Prison officers Melanie and Natalie, and prison officers Nicolette and Julie too, now all slipped their pale-blue, thin-rubber soled flip flops back on, and vacated Table 6.

A few moments later, the red leather bench seat just vacated by prison officers Melanie and Natalie, was once again occupied, by ... two civilian staff: Caterers.

And, without even bothering to look down under their table at me, as the two female civilian catering staff shucked their white cotton ankle-socked feet from their backless, white leather clog-like shoes, to settle down comfortably to their Italian-themed four-course lunch ... I soon found myself 'catering', to them.

*

Dear reader,

the particular day's events that I shall now relate to you -- events that, due to their enduring flashback-like vividness, even now to this day still pain and distress me to recall -- occurred a year or so after I'd been admitted into Greystone Prison. I'll begin in my cell -- Cell 16, Level 1. Sometime between 1 and 2 p.m. ...

"Your er ... modifications are still giving you a bit of gyp, are they, Len?" said my cellmate Ross, sympathetically. "I took a while to heal up, too. But it's been three months now, since your op."

"Ha! Modifications -- what a damn liberty!" I said disgustedly. "But yeah, mate, I'm still a bit sore," I replied, fingering my jawlines and the middle of my chin agitatedly. "The problem is I wasn't allowed anything like the full recommended post-op recovery time to heal up properly. The prison officers couldn't wait to try me out, could they? And then they couldn't leave me alone. I was too much of a novelty. In fact, I've been so used, overused, and downright abused, it's a wonder I've healed up at all!"

"What about your painkillers, Len? Got any left?"

"No. Old Blathers has taken me off the painkillers. But there's only a bit of lingering tenderness now, that's all. It's ... it's just a hell of a thing to have to get used to. You know? My jaws and chin feel really weird, but I suppose I'll get used to the new sensations eventually. But my mouth is no longer my own now, is it? Not really. I'll never be comfortable with that."

"Well, be thankful, Len -- at least she let you keep your teeth!"

'She', of course, was prison officer Bella Donna -- or, when Ross and I thought she was safely out of earshot, Poison Ivy.

And what Ross was talking about, with reference to teeth, was that prison officer Billie Jo had had the prison doctor (Dr Blatherhead, who doubled as a dentist) pull out all of his teeth, because he'd threatened to bite her foot if she put it in his mouth.

Prison officer Billie Jo had afterwards preened and crowed, proprietorially.

Exulting execrably, she'd demonstrated to her spectating colleagues as to just how cock-a-hoop delighted she was with all of the luxurious extra "wiggle room" that prisoner Chapman's totally toothless mouth now afforded her feet ... And, of course, the Foot Service availing feet of every other jailhouse blue prison officer in Greystone Prison.

Laughing -- giggling girlishly -- at the atrocious, hideous aftermath of her Governor-sanctioned dental handiwork, prison officer Billie Jo had nicknamed Ross 'Gummy'.

As pleased as Punch with the ineffable agreeableness of Ross's oral cavity "improvements", prison officer Billie Jo had recommended and encouraged prison officer Bella Donna to "Do a Gummy" with me: urged her to have me, too, subjected to the same space-increasing dental demolition job. "You'll be glad you did!" she had fervently assured her colleague and co-conspirator in my and Ross's false imprisonment.

But prison officer Bella Donna had let me keep my teeth. Not for my own benefit -- but for hers. So that, in addition to all of my other routine Foot Service attentions and ministrations, I could continue to orally exfoliate (gently and carefully tooth-scrape free of dead skin) the soles of her already pampered-to-the-nth-degree feet.

But prison officer Bella Donna had nonetheless used another, and even more diabolically inventive method of achieving said desired increased roominess of oral cavity accommodation.

It being a bit beyond the more basic General Practitioner capabilities of Dr Blatherhead, Greystone Prison's doctor-cum-dentist, the services of an outsider specialist had been called upon to perform the "minor op".

In response to prison officer Bella Donna's special request, Governor Meredith Monroe had contacted nearby Brighton General Infirmary and requested to have me "treated" by one of their consultant orthopaedic surgeons.

Which was how, three months ago, my jaws came to have two of British Hearth and Home's Push & Lock stainless-steel telescopic pins surgically implanted in them.

Not being much in the way of a do-it-yourselfer, preferring instead to leave matters of maintenance, repair and improvements to people who actually know what they are doing, the general purposes of the DIY chain store's ratchet-wheel operated stainless-steel telescopic pins were completely unknown to me.

But as to their application in my specific case, I did know the two-inch long stainless-steel telescopic pins' purpose: Their purpose was to facilitate the jailhouse blues -- first and foremost prison officer Bella Donna -- with more easeful and much improved Foot Service oral access and accommodation.

Once prison officer Bella Donna had had the two specially adapted stainless-steel telescopic pins inserted into the living bone of my jaws, the prison officers no longer needed to bother to tell me to 'Open up!' or 'Open wide!' or 'Open wider!'.

Instead, they were able to wordlessly self-select: to simply foot-operate my mouth's extra-generous accommodation capacity range as desired.

By first pressing the slightly raised nub in the centre of my chin (another of the orthopaedic surgeon's implants) push-button style by heel, ball of the foot, or by toes (by the pad of the big-toe was easier for most self-selecting users) to engage two clasps to their respective stainless-steel pins' internal ratcheting wheel mechanisms, by heel, ball of the foot, or by toes (by heel was easier for most users) the foot-operating prison officers were then enabled to lower my jaw as desired -- up to the two telescopic pins' maximum extension limit of four and a half inches.

Then, upon a foot-operating prison officer having established her particular oral cavity extension requirements (usually fully open), and then releasing the downward pressure of her heel, ball of the foot, or big-toe (as the case may be), as the two ratchet wheels' leading teeth then lodged fast in their respective cogwheels inside their stainless-steel pins' housings, thus my opened-up jaws were automatically locked to the desired specification of the particular foot-operating prison officer.

Upon foot-operating prison officers having finished availing themselves of my Foot Service attentions, to then relinquish and restore temporary control of my own mouth to me once more, by heel, ball of the foot, or by big-toe they used the same push-button style procedure in reverse.

Prison officer Bella Donna had afterwards exulted, proprietorially.

Enthusing fiendishly (and without even allowing me the orthopaedic surgeon's full prescribed post-op recovery time), prison officer Bella Donna had demonstrated to her spectating colleagues, as to just how over-the-moon delighted she was with the much improved oral cavity accommodational comfort her automational Foot Service accessory now afforded her feet ... And, of course, the Foot Service availing feet of every other jailhouse blue prison officer in Greystone Prison.

Laughing -- giggling girlishly -- at the unspeakable, unconscionable, diabolical accomplishment of her Governor-sanctioned dental handiwork, prison officer Bella Donna had nicknamed me 'Jaws'.

And so, on top of Ross's dental "improvements", as inspired and instigated by prison officer Billie Jo, as word of prison officer Bella Donna's special-request implementation of my own oral cavity "modifications" got around on the prison grapevine, prison officer partners Bella Donna and Billie Jo's already infamous reputations ballooned to dizzy new heights ... or, depending on one's point of view (such as mine and Ross's), plumbed to deplorable new depths.

Ross and me -- prison officers Billie Jo and Bella Donna's mouth-modified bitches -- were the laughing-stock of Greystone Prison: Prison officers, civilian office and catering staff -- and even some of the prisoners -- shared in the fun.

For committing three offences against the Authoritarian Female Party's latest Crimes Against Females legislation (albeit unknowingly -- but an ignorance of the law is no defence), at one month per 'Ungentlemanly Conduct' transgression under the new Female-Friendly Code, I'd been awarded a three-months' sentence, to be served at Greystone Prison ... and I was still there, a year on.

Why? Because of the succession of thought up, made up, dreamed up, trumped-up charges brought against me with malevolent intent by prison officer Bella Donna -- Poison Ivy! To "retain" me indefinitely. So as to "mould" me -- into her own idea of a perfect foot slave.

And because of prison officer Billie Jo's similarly motivated string of totally fabricated, maliciously concocted, vilely invented charges against him, Ross was in exactly the same diabolical predicament as myself.

At this point in time, because of prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo's extra-prison-time incurring trumped-up charges -- charges, that Governor Meredith Monroe, in her office-cum-courtroom had upheld, waving away dismissively and disparagingly both my and Ross's desperate and despairing protestations of total innocence as she imposed due sanction -- we'd both had another four years to serve ...

Finally shaking off the dejectful thoughts of my mournful reverie, I said to Ross, "So, mate, what do you think the blues have got lined up for us today? What do you think they've got in mind? I mean, if they were going to take us down to the Staff Canteen to provide Table Service, I think they'd have come for us before now. Lunch must be nearly over."

"I don't know, Len. The Governor is a bit lax today. For some reason I haven't received my usual copy of the prison officers' work assignment schedule from her office yet," said Ross dryly. "The blues seem to have forgotten to apprise me of their itineraries for today, as well."

"Oh, very droll ... Well, have a guess then," I said. "It worries me, Ross, when the blues are as quiet as this. It usually means they are up to something."

Sometimes, I didn't know which was worse: being suddenly and harshly ordered to assume the position for Foot Service by the arrogant, imperious, authoritarian Levels-patrolling jailhouse blues prison officers -- or not!

"I don't know. Your guess is as good as mine. It could be anything ... Maybe we'll be taken down to the gymnasium to assist in the prison officers' fitness and training exercises," Ross ventured, humouring me. "Or maybe we'll be taken to serve in the Foot Massage Room, to perform some real, actual hands-on foot massage -- we haven't done that, for a few days. But Len, you can always count on one thing: the blues will have us doing something horrible and humiliating!"