This story is written by David, please send comments and appreciation to voondave@yahoo.co.uk

Community Service Ch. 13.

Ch. 13: David Smith must make girlfriend Tina see the light.


I waited, as in Greystone Prison's Security Checkpoint building, the seconds passed disquietingly.

If this was a tactic routinely deployed by the two Receiving Officers Melanie and Natalie to discomfit visitors and to discourage them from opening their mouths to open a dialogue for no purpose other than to attempt to engage them in idle discourse, their deterrent certainly worked with me.

Implicit in the prohibitive stares of the two Receiving Officers was that exchanges of pleasantries of the day were unwarranted, cordial conversational observations were surplus to requirement - in fact, their openly hostile glares made it crystal clear that anything other than strictly necessary business related utterances would be unwelcome and indeed impermissible.

Neither, and even less so, did the forbidding expressions on the countenances of the other two prison officers present invite so much as a polite Good-morning, let alone an unsolicited outpouring of tittle-tattle.

Summoned via their Walkie Talkies by Receiving Officer Natalie, prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo had entered the Security Checkpoint building more than a minute ago but had yet to say a word.

The fact that they were all so outstandingly beautiful and stunningly attractive only served to make me feel even more uneasy and all the more awkward.

With each passing second my anxiety increased as each of the four 'Jailhouse Blue' female prison officers subjected me to their silent scrutinising stares.

The only sounds, the slap-slap-slap-slapping of Receiving Officer Melanie's uniform foam-rubber soled flip flops that with nerve-jarring monotony beat a devil's tattoo against the bottoms of her bare heels as she sat with her feet propped up on the corner of her desk.

But when at last one of them did break the growing tension of the uncomfortably lengthening silence, the stony look in her eyes and her curt manner of address and the uncompromising authority conveyed in the tone of her voice did little to settle my jangling nerves and nothing to calm my growing concerns.

"Community servant David double-oh-seven," said Receiving Officer Natalie. "Officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo will now escort you to Governor Monroe's office. They will accompany you throughout your visit. Finally, they will return you here. Where you will quietly wait, until your Securi-Fem return transport to Canford arrives to collect you."

I understood from Receiving Officer Natalie's forbidding expression that a verbal reply was not required and so I didn't make one.

Prison officer Bella Donna now stepped forward.

At hearing the sudden slapping sounds of her foam-rubber soled flip flops rapping smartly at her bare heels as she closed the half dozen or so steps' distance that separated us, female feet featuring so predominantly in my life these days, almost automatically I found myself looking down at prison officer Bella Donna's approaching feet.

Before being assigned as Sock Room community servant by Canford's Community Service Liaison Officer, Ms Harriet Harmman MP, I had thought that one pair of feet were much like another.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Just like the features on people's faces, by now I had seen such a range of shapes, sizes, and myriad other distinguishing characteristics, I was of the opinion that feet were every bit as different and individual (and, the more I saw of them, as recognisable) as faces.

Now, I observed that prison officer Bella Donna's pale-skinned feet were in fact beautifully formed, and appreciatively I noticed that her slender medium-long toes were done up attractively in the French pedicure style.

When I looked up again, from her now stationary feet, I saw that in her hands were a shiny set of handcuffs.

And now, in her immediate presence and making direct eye contact from barely a foot away, most forcefully was I made acutely aware of just how outstandingly beautiful and stunningly attractive was the flawlessly pale-skinned, penetratingly ice-blue eyed, platinum-blonde prison officer Bella Donna.

"Put your hands behind your back, Community servant David," she said. Her calm, cool tone conveyed to me that she was accustomed to being obeyed promptly and without question or demur.

"What?" I said, taken aback - and alarmed. I'd heard the scary rumours and horror stories of the sort of things that went on in this place - and there was no smoke without fire. "Why do I need to-"

"Regulations," interjected officer Bella Donna.

"But, I-"

"Community servant David double-oh-seven," cut in officer Bella Donna again, speaking sharply, her ice-blue eyes glinting ominously. "You are obstructing a prison officer in the course of her duties."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to. But-"

"Perhaps you are unaware that, for that, with just one word to the Governor from me with supporting testimony from three reliable witnesses, albeit you are a visitor that is no protection and you could well find yourself being led away to sample a variety of our ... correctional procedures."

I realised that my lame laments and feeble protestations weren't cutting any ice with the Ice Princess, and so I thought it best just to cooperate and to put my hands behind my back as instructed.

Besides, I didn't like the sound of being "led away".

But I didn't like the idea one little bit, I thought as officer Bella Donna stepped behind me.

With my hands restrained behind my back, I would hesitate to put my faith in these so-called Blues and trust them to conduct themselves within the parameters as set out in the Penal Code regulatory guidelines. What was to stop them, from-

From behind me, I heard prison officer Bella Donna's grunt of satisfaction upon cinching her handcuffs around my wrists so tightly it was all I could do to stop myself crying out.

She then leant in close, and it was more so in the manner of her discompassionate delivery than her actual words of warning that sent a chill right to my heart as she whispered icily in my ear. "Hurts, doesn't it? But, trust me: that's nothing. And believe me, double-oh-seven, there is nothing I enjoy more than teaching a few manners to disrespectful males and bringing them to heel - especially uppity, little whippersnappers like you who won't do as they are told the first time. So now I am telling you: When I or any other officer tells you to do something, you will do it promptly - and without any backchat. This is not a debating society. The orders and instructions we issue are exactly that: orders and instructions. To be obeyed and complied with at once. They are not up for discussion ... got it?"

I nodded once, compliantly signalling that I'd got it.

She was not finished, though, and certainly not placated, for she then continued breathing into my ear just as frostily. "I am Officer Bella Donna. And during your visit here, of which I have been given the dubious honour of conducting, you will address me accordingly at all times and with all due respect. Or, of a manner and means at my personal discretion, you will suffer the correctional consequences - which I assure you will be very painful and will live long in the memory. I advise you to bear in mind also that my colleague Billie Jo expects the same consideration ... and she isn't as tolerant or as lenient as me."

I looked at prison officer Billie Jo, who was still standing near the door.

And, such was her aggressive cane-at-the-ready demeanour and the baleful glare she returned, it was enough to convince me that what I'd imagined highly unlikely might, in fact, be true: the raven-haired, olive-complexioned prison officer Billie Jo was, to be feared even more.

Upon seeing that her colleague Bella Donna had finished her little tete-a-tete pep talk, prison officer Billie Jo said, all business, "Let's go, Community servant David - you are keeping the Governor waiting!"

So, now I knew how things stood.

But what else had I been expecting?

And now it seemed as though my troubled first impressions about prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo were vindicated.

That my worried gut instincts were validated.

That my assessments of their callous, cruel, hard-hearted characters were verified.

That there was just cause and reason, for their making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

"Yes, officer Billie Jo," I said respectfully.

*


So it was, that with my hands tightly cuffed behind my back, I was escorted from the Security Checkpoint building and into Greystone Prison.

Marshalled by prison officers Bella Donna on my left and Billie Jo on my right, I listened to the businesslike sounds of their uniform-issue flip flops slap-slap-slapping away against the bottoms of their bare heels, that as we walked along the interconnecting walled-in pathway had a slightly echoey resonance.

Once inside the prison, it didn't take long to conclude that all of my fears and forebodings about the place and its personnel were far from unfounded.

The expressions on the faces of the infamous 'Jailhouse Blue' female prison officers who upon glancing my way and seeing my identity emblazoned on my community servant's uniform white T-shirt were warnings enough in themselves: I was another errant male, who would benefit from a sampling of their correctional techniques and rehabilitation therapies.

Just inside the building, I noticed a stairway to my left, that led down a short way before branching off to left and right. The sign on the wall above said - Basement: Gymnasium, Sunbeds, and Foot Massage Room.

The gymnasium ... I'd heard that was where the dreadful Wheel of Chastisement was located.

The Wheel of Chastisement was the diabolical device of discouragement and dissuasion.

Or, of encouragement and persuasion.

The dichotomic distinction depended upon the polarised points of view of the principal participants, engaged either in operating it or riding 'bareback' on it.

The Wheel of Chastisement:

The slowly revolving dais, upon which the stubbornest and most resistant-to-change prisoners - of whom browbeating and face-slapping and even repeated multi-officer simultaneous caning had failed to do the trick - were restrained to in a standing position with their feet wide apart and administered a more potent behavioural remedy.

Consisting of ballbusting and bare bottom caning by an 'ultimate-treatment' recommending Blue, who as instigator would personally perform the Governor's prescribed effective dosage of barefoot kicks, and supported by a twelve-member Caning Party detail including the instigating Blue herself, this mindset adjustment curative therapy of last resort was superintended by the Governor ... A safeguard, against any unfortunate overdosing of the treatment recipient by her overcaring officers.

In these such cases, it might be a prisoner's final chance, and his last opportunity to voluntarily capitulate.

To come to heel.

To accept his fate.

And consent to submit, once and for all.

Not just to the Blues.

But to vow to undertake henceforth - his oath and his signature upon his Release Form duly witnessed by his rehabilitators - to reconcile himself as subject to the AFP-vested authority of any and all females.

Whether they be UK nationals, or from overseas: visiting university students, tourists, businesswomen, or foreign workers whether permanent or seasonal.

And to readily provide, night or day, any assistances or personal services made upon him.

Whether availed upon, in person, while out and about, going about his routine activities and other pursuits.

Or whether contacted on his AFP-registered mobile phone.

His number obtained either online, from the AFP's Female-Friendly Services website, or found in public phone booths in the monthly-updated local directories in which the categorised character profiles of reformed prisoners were printed along with their contact details.

With the more stubborn and obdurate prisoners being administered, where necessary, up to a maximum of three ultimate treatments (the exact prescribed effective dosages of Blue-administered barefoot kicks, as calculated by the Governor on a carefully considered case-by-case basis), the cruelly conceived contraption was said to be curative in 99% of cases.

The 1% of refusing-to-come-to-heel prisoners (known as the 'One in a hundred's), deemed irredeemably unfit to be released into female-friendly society, these scrap heap, hopeless case failures were relegated to an unspeakable existence and doomed to an unthinkable fate.

These usually alpha male types, resultant of their profound objection and insurmountable reluctance to submit so completely and comprehensively to the notion of all-female administrative rule, in general, but manifestly more so to the AFP's female-authority ideology, in particular, were given the most mindless and demoralising of prisoner work duties.

And as though as reminders of the consequences of their fateful choice, it was with punishing frequency and remonstrative regularity that the Blues used the One-in-a-hundreds for skill honing ball-kicking practice.

But at least there was one happy side-effect of the Blues' routine training aid usage of the no-hopers' scrotums for target practice: it helped to keep down to acceptable levels the number of unfortunate but unavoidable 'ruination'-style accidents.

Regretable mishaps, as inevitably (and especially with overenthusiastic rookie Blues) occurred on occasion in the general course of administering to lesser problematic and redeemable inmates this inherently delicate method of prisoner chastisement.

Although sometimes, just as a timely 'straightener', at her discretion a Jailhouse Blue might be disposed to recommend a small dosage (up to a maximum of three barefoot kicks) of the 'ultimate treatment', to a prisoner who in her considered opinion was showing signs of 'lapsing'. And, as the 'instigating' Blue ...

To my left again we came now to another set of concrete steps, these leading down into a dimly lit corridor.

About to be escorted down these steps by a Jailhouse Blue were two prisoners.

The two captives certainly looked a sorry pair.

If these two forlorn-looking wretches were typical examples, it spoke volumes as to what life 'inside' must be like in Greystone Prison.

Garbed in a decidedly drab cigarette-ash grey prison uniform, on their feet they wore ridiculous-looking, too-big fluffy slippers of the same horrible depressing colour.

Miserably the two intimidated inmates shuffled along in their fumbly footwear, carefully minding their steps, and even more carefully minding their manners, remaining silent and unresponding as the cane-wielding Blue badgered and belittled them, her sharply issued admonishments and authoritative cajolings, liberally laced with cruel jibes and hurtful slurs.

The two inmates' names, stencilled in black onto their grim, grey uniforms, rang a bell ...

Yes - prison officer Bella Donna had said over her Walkie Talkie when responding to Receiving Officer Natalie's call for assistance, that in their cell up at Level 5 she and her colleague Billie Jo had been availing themselves of Foot Service from prisoners Chapman and Lightwood.

No longer requiring them for Foot Service, instead of allowing them to languish in their cell unproductively, prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo must have detailed their would-be foot servants to other duties.

Other duties, that apparently now, in their abject dejection in knowing what was imminently in store for them, they were so sorrowfully on their way to fulfil.

I couldn't help noticing that the Blue, for all of the slights, insults and acerbic aspersions with which she verbally assaulted him, she seemed to have a bit of a roving eye, for prisoner Lightwood ... not to mention a bit of a roving hand.

Her nametag declared her to be prison officer Siobhan.

Just past this downward leading flight of concrete steps, the sign above the white-painted double doors read - Staff Canteen.

Just then four Blues on the early first-sitting lunch break pushed their way through into the dining room, and when the double doors flapped back and forth after them a few times, the wafting mouthwatering aromas emanating from within gave testament to the high-quality cuisine the Blues and other prison personnel enjoyed.

But again, what I noticed more than the tantalising lunch fare aromas was the almost heartstopping beauty and pulse-quickening attractiveness of the Blues - and this, despite the decidedly offputting effects of the female prison officers' adopted but severely cut and somehow menacing-looking AFP-adapted concave bob hairdos.

Still more, noticeable and pervading, to the point of not just insinuating but impressing insistently upon the mind, was the irritating and annoying slap-slap-slap-slapping sounds of the Blues' uniform foam-rubber soled flip flops, slapping against the bottoms of their bare heels as they went about their duties.

It was these, almost constant sounds, rather than the cliched occasional clanging and banging sounds of slamming steel-barred cell doors, which were the symbolic sounds of Greystone Prison.

Sounds that, carrying from near and far, announced themselves ominously throughout the Jailhouse Blues' domain.

What must it be like, I thought, for the prisoners here to have to listen to that all day?

Perhaps learning, over time, to discern some of the individual slap-slap-slapping 'signature' sounds of their Levels-patrolling captors' comings and goings. And-

Suddenly I was brought up short when prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo both grabbed hold of my uniform T-shirt and jerked me to an abrupt standstill as, on their way to the early lunch sitting, two approaching Blues stopped to say hi and to swap the latest gossip with my two escorts.

And yet again I was bedazzled and awed by the dazzling beauty and stunning attractiveness of two more of these female prison officers, uniformed in their cleavage-displaying pale-blue blouses and the pale-blue denim short skirts that to such pulse-quickening effect showed off their million-dollar legs.

As most of the Blues seemed to be, these two were in their early twenties.

Greystone Prison was, apparently, run by beauty queens - but whose beauty was only skin deep.

The two jovial and loquacious Blues' nametags informed me that they were prison officers Rita and Analise.

Prison officer Rita was an Irish-accented, drop-dead gorgeous pale-skinned green-eyed redhead, with the sort of bright and bubbly personality that was guaranteed to light up and enliven any room the moment she stepped into it.

She paid me barely any notice.

Prison officer Analise was a glamour model gorgeous, eye-catching, head-turning, pulse-quickening suntanned brunette with dark brown eyes, of who's heartbreaker beauty I was sure was such as to stun into admiring appreciative (or envious) silence the occupants of any room into which she made an entrance.

She paid me a lot of notice.

Prison officer Analise looked me up and down, taking me all in.

My overriding emotion was of shock.

I had never been looked at by a girl before, with such open, uninhibited ... interest.

I was greatly unsettled, by the sheer candid brazenness of prison officer Analise's appraisal, as, all but licking her lips, predatorily she undressed me and interfered with me with her eyes.

The hell of it was that I felt that I daren't say a word.

And the way she stared back at me, told me she knew it.

Prison officer Analise was one of the rulers of Greystone Prison.

And I, albeit a visitor - and a community servant at that - was one of the ruled.

It was a decidedly disquieting insight.

A profoundly disturbing revelation, as to the sort of unlimited power and untrammelled advantage these Jailhouse Blue female prison officers must exert over their petrified prisoners, in satisfying their pleasures - and, I didn't doubt, gratifying some of their darker desires - enjoying at whim, their ... perks.

Looking satisfied, that without even having said a word but with just the force of her look she had intimidated and cowed me into a reverent, subdued silence, prison officer Analise then said to her colleague Rita, "Hey, this one's a bit of all right, isn't he, Hellcat?"

'Hellcat'? I thought. What sort of a name was that? Still, no doubt she richly deserves it. She's probably an embodiment of the proverbial firey-tempered redhead.

"Well, he's a cut above, so he is," opined the Irish-accented 'Hellcat' Rita. "And I can see the attraction. I'll give you that, so I will. But I prefer my men to have a bit more muscle, Analise. He's a bit weedy, isn't he? Like most community servants."

Prison officer Analise countered, "But he's ever so good-looking, though, don't you think?"

Prison officer Rita ran her green eyes over me again, but more appraisingly this time.

She then said, "Tell me, Community servant David. What sort of work are you assigned to?"

"I ... I work in Canford town's Sock Room, officer Rita," I said respectfully.

"Ha!" exclaimed officer Rita. "See, Analise? There you go: That's why he looks so dispirited. So run-down and jaded. Dejected. Defeated. And who wouldn't? Hand-washing girls' and women's dirty socks all day - that is when he's not being bullied and tormented and preyed upon by his sock-changing townswomen. You know as well as I do, Analise, that Sock Rooms bring out the bitch in us - and it's all the worse for him that as you say he's so good-looking. And he looks to me, so he does, a prime candidate to succumb sometime soon to Community Servant Burnout Syndrome."

Prison officer Billie Jo scoffed, "What, a Sock Room community servant? He should thank his lucky stars he's not a prisoner here. He'd soon succumb to a lot more than the Syndrome!"

Prison officer Analise responded, "Well: If he does ever end up in here - I'm bags-ing firsties for Foot Service!"

That served as the amusing little punchline for prompting the end the short meeting and the comradely parting of company.

Prison officer Analise, patting my cheek as a way of saying a fond goodbye, said, "And, Community servant David: End up in here, and ... I might even make you my bitch."

Laughing, she and prison officer 'Hellcat' Rita then continued on their way to their early lunch at the Staff Canteen; prison officer Analise, glancing back over her shoulder at me in speculative appraisal more than once.

For a moment I stared after prison officers Rita and Analise, unable but to admire their sexy shapely figures - especially prison officer Analise, who I was sure was exaggeratedly waggling her tight-skirted bottom purely for my benefit.

As the sounds of their foam-rubber soled flip flops slap-slap-slapping away against their bare heels slowly receded, I looked at their lovely shapely legs, also struck, by their starkly contrasting skin tones.

And at noticing, displayed fleetingly at their each and every stride, prison officer Analise's slightly dirty soles, and the decidedly grubbier and grimier bottoms of her colleague Rita's feet, who's flashing, comparatively milky white arches attracted the eye, uneasily I thought about what they'd both just said about me.

The irrefutable truths that prison officer 'Hellcat' Rita had spoken - about my being washed out and defeated and on the brink of falling yet another victim to Community Servant Burnout Syndrome - had hit right home. Smiles were rarer and didn't come so readily to my lips these days, and I couldn't remember the last time I laughed. But I didn't know until now that my miserable soul-crushed downtrodden state was so apparent.

Having said that, I was troubled far more by what prison officer Analise had said.

I felt sure then that prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo had 'bitches' of their own ... perhaps they were prisoners Chapman and Lightwood?

"Come on, you!" prompted prison officer Billie Jo with another sudden sharp tug at my uniform T-shirt. "Stop dawdling! The totty is for the prisoners to ogle at and lust after - not you!"

And with that, my two escorts and I were on our way again too ...

Looking up from the Ground Floor's square-shaped hall as I walked between prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo, I saw behind safety rails the five four-sided landings - or Levels - where the prisoners' cells were.

Up at Level 2, two Blues were leaning on the safety rail and looking down into the hall, watching the comings and goings and other general activity as they chatted.

One of the Blues caught my eye, and, using her cane to point straight at me and draw a bead on me she drew her colleague's attention to me.

They were two more pulse-quickening beauties. But even from where I was walking I could see they weren't having beautiful thoughts.

Deeming it prudent to break eye contact with them at once, I quickly looked away.

As I did so, I accidentally collided slightly with prison officer Bella Donna.

A light brush that earned me a heavy reprimand.

Prison officer Bella Donna interrupted my apology to snap at me, admonishing me to face forward and to watch where I was going if I didn't want my face slapped - because, slap it, she would.

Her even more irascible and less forgiving colleague Billie Jo informed me that I was lucky it hadn't been her that I'd so carelessly stumbled into - because she wasn't one for pussyfooting about. She would not have given me a second chance, warning reprieve - she would have pulled my uniform white shorts down to my ankles and given me a caning I wouldn't forget in a hurry, administered right then and there where I stood.

And, if I gave her or her colleague Bella Donna just cause again ...

As far as they were concerned, they told me, a community servant under their escort who didn't know how to behave himself would be treated in the same summary no-nonsense corrective fashion as would any prison inmate who stepped out of line.

Because as far as they were concerned, a community servant - an out of work, unproductive member of society, shamelessly living a leech's life on Unemployment Benefits funded by hardworking taxpayers just like themselves - was only one small step removed from an actual criminal.

Oh, and prison officer Bella Donna said that if I'd happened to have trod on her toes, no matter the Governor was waiting to see me - she would have had me hauled down to the gymnasium and restrained to the Wheel of Chastisement so fast that my feet wouldn't have touched the ground. And then: Boy, would she let me have it! Sore toes or not.

When I tried to apologise to prison officer Bella Donna again, she told me to shut up unless I wanted my face slapped - repeatedly, and very hard.

I was putting her right in the mood, she assured me, to participate in a little of what she told me she enjoyed greatly and that her colleague Billie Jo called the 'personal touch'.

She advised me that her leniency with me as a visitor would only extend so far - and I was already overstepping her limit.

She told me that had I been a prisoner, I would be at a loss what to do: soothe my throbbing, repeatedly slapped face; rub my stinging, Standard Sixed buttocks; or clutch my agonised, barefoot-kicked testicles.

Because, administered by her hands, cane, and feet, by now I would have experienced all three said forms of summary chastisement - and handcuffed, neither of the three said methods of pain assuagement would be achievable.

She warned me above all not to let the fact that I was not a prisoner here belull me into a false sense of safety. Because for as long as I was under her escort, I was anything but safe.

She told me I needed to understand that.

Staring back into the chilling depths of prison officer Bella Donna's ice-blue eyes, I was convinced beyond a doubt as to the absolute sincerity of her stated indifference to my civilian visitor status and even more so as to the due enactment of her 'personal touch' threat should I further overextend her antipathetic accommodations.

Given these most persuasive considerations, I was inclined to take her advice and just keep it zipped.

I had already been severely face-slapped by Mrs Newlove this morning as a single slap 'straightener' for laggardly compliance and for exhausting her very limited patience - and I needed neither the stinging pain or the crushing degradation of another eye-watering slap. Neither did I want to find myself comparing and considering which of the two of them was most adept at the face-slapping 'art'.

I was now sure that just one more word from me, and I would feel the sharp and stunning impact of prison officer Bella Donna's pale-skinned palms on not one but both of my cheeks - "repeatedly" and "very hard" - as I stood, unresisting, unevasive, compliantly accepting my punishment.

Under the governance of Prime Minister Caroline Flynt's Authoritarian Female Party, the rights of male citizens were unequalised.

As an unemployed community servant, my rights were reduced and restricted much more so than were the rights of working men. Whose taxes, after all, went to filling up and keeping filled the AFP's coffers, providing the necessary funding for all of the AFP's female-friendly amenities, projects and schemes.

And one of my AFP-regulated restrictions was quite literal.

Upon sufferance of a sterner penalty, I was bound by law to refrain from presenting any defence whatsoever and to receive the administering of my neighbour from hell Norma Newlove's frequent face-slapping 'straighteners' compliantly and without so much as flinching. The discipline as of course also pertained to the corrective physical admonishments of whomsoever other such chastising females.

Which was bad enough.

But it was abundantly clear to me by now that prison officer Bella Donna was something else altogether.

She was a law unto herself.

She had her own, set of rules and regulations.

Her own, repertoire of corrective measures.

Her own, ideas of discipline.

At prison officer Bella Donna's having marked my card so unequivocally, we then continued along, past a lift and to the far end of the hall, to where Governor Monroe's office was situated.

On the dark hardwood door, the brass plaque - that was so shiny it looked to me as though every day without fail it was polished and buffed and burnished to the nth degree - read: 'Meredith Monroe - Governor of Greystone Prison'.

Prison officer Bella Donna again turned her blood-freezing gaze on me and gave me one last frosty glare of warning before knocking politely on the door.

*


"Community servant David double-oh-seven, Ma'am. Escorted to your office upon his arrival, as requested," announced prison officer Bella Donna, in tones hinting that surely she had better things to do with her time than ushering community servants about the place.

Like availing herself of Foot Service? I thought.

As though sensing and knowing something of the Ice Princess's prickly mood and more so her crackly temperament, the Governor promptly got down to brass tacks.

"Welcome to Greystone Prison, Community servant David. I'm Governor Monroe."

I now saw that Governor Meredith Monroe was a strikingly attractive woman, perhaps in her mid-thirties.

A more mature version of her Jailhouse Blue prison officers, she wore the 'trademark' pale blue skimpy and revealing uniform, and I saw through the open kneehole of her desk that on her shapely, tanned feet she also wore their uniform-issue foam-rubber soled flip flops.

She also wore her own, blonde hair in the style of the adopted but more severely cut AFP-adapted version of the concave bob - a hairstyle I used to find sexy, but not anymore.

Due to its more sinister connotations of recent times, as far as I was concerned, the once appealing hairdo had lost most of its gloss and all of its glamour.

In Governor Monroe's case, though, as so often it seemed to be the way with older women, the somehow scary and intimidating helmet-like hairdo suited her.

"Thank you, Governor. I'm ... pleased to meet you."

"Please sit down, Community servant David," offered the Governor pleasantly, indicating the seat on the other side of her desk. "And don't look so worried! As a visitor, you'll find my officers' barks worse than their bites."

I looked back over my shoulder at prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo, who had stationed themselves to either side of the door ... and knew I wouldn't find anything of the sort.

But at least for the moment, under the restraining eye of their mistress and handler the Governor, they were both temporarily muzzled.

"Thank you, Governor. But I'll stand if I may; it's rather awkward, with these-"

"Officer Bella Donna," interjected the Governor, "I rather think we can dispense with the use of handcuffs on this occasion, don't you agree? This is, after all, a highly unusual - in fact, unprecedented - situation."

"Ma'am," said prison officer Bella Donna, who then did as bid, albeit with undisguised reluctance.

Her glowering expression made her feelings perfectly clear: She did not agree.

I could even detect the angry, waspish note; a sort of malicious undertone, articulated in the slap-slap-slapping sounds of her foam-rubber soled flip flops against the bottoms of her bare heels as in her displeasure she strode the five or six business-like strides to where I stood to remove her handcuffs from my wrists.

It struck me then, that what had occurred to me earlier was very probably true: that over time, the prisoners here would learn to discern, and therefore to match, many of the distinctive individualised foam-rubber soled flip flops' slap-slap-slap-slapping 'signature' sounds with the identities of their Jailhouse Blue prison officer wearers.

And, no doubt, moping in their miserable cells and cringing in constant dread and trembling in trepidation, listen keenly, with their attuned, educated ears, to each of those approaching slap-slap-slap-slapping sounds.

Because, for all of them, there would be certain distinctive and distinguishing, individualised 'signature' sounds, they feared most to hear ...

What a relief!

My wrists were already chafed, from the over-tightly applied cuffs.

Looking back over my shoulder I shot officer Bella Donna a pointed look ... and she shot me an even more pointed look right back.

Don't push it! I warned myself.

I took the seat across from the Governor as invited.

"How about a lovely cup of coffee, Community servant David?" Governor Monroe said, smiling cordially. "The beans I've got on the go at the moment are one of my favourites - a Columbian special-roast - ever so delicious. Can I get officer Bella Donna to pour you a nice cup?"

Because Securi-Fem officer Affina and her three colleagues had turned up at the Sock Room this morning to transport me to Greystone Prison, I'd foregone my coffee break, and now the thought of a cup of Governor Monroe's excellent coffee had my mouth watering.

And I was just about to take the Governor up on her kind offer, but when I looked back over my shoulder again and saw the expression on prison officer Bella Donna's face ...

"Um ... no, thank you, Governor. I'm fine, thank you."

"Perhaps later, then."

"Yes, Governor. Thank you."

Governor Monroe then said amiably, "I've been hearing a lot about you, Community servant David. And I've been looking forward to meeting you personally. You see, I thought we might have a little chat."

About bargaining chips? I thought.

"Um ... I-"

"Now I won't kid myself that you'd rather sit there, talking to me, instead of getting on with visiting prisoner Miss Tina Marshall - your darling sweetheart."

"Er, well ..."

"I happen to be aware that she misses you terribly, too, David. Although as yet, she knows nothing of your visit today. It was only this morning that I pulled a few strings to specially fast-track you."

Oh ... now it's 'David'.

And how come the special string-pulling fast-track favour?

And how come Tina doesn't know I'm coming? Surely she could have been notified of my sudden unexpected visit.

The Governor must be keeping it back, I supposed, as a pleasant surprise.

"When can I see her, Governor?"

"Oh, in just a few moments. But, instead of the Visiting Room, I thought it would be rather more ... conducive to my objective, for officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo to take you to see Tina in her cell. In-situ, as it were, as an added inducement to help you come to your decision - after you've listened to my proposition."

"Proposition, Governor? My decision?"

Governor Meredith Monroe leant back in her seat and looked at me appraisingly.

She then steepled her fingers, gathering her thoughts.

She then sighed, as though to convey to me the weight of responsibility that lay burdensome upon her shoulders at the difficulties she faced.

I waited for what was coming: now I would learn the real reason for Governor Monroe's sudden and surprising summons.

"It is a success record that my officers and I are rightly very proud of and most gratified by, that ninety-nine per cent of our prisoners here eventually come to understand the errors of their ways and leave us to embark upon their new, useful lives.

"Having said that, I sincerely regret and take very much to heart each and every individual failure.

"Every failure, to correct and rehabilitate the one per cent of male prisoners here. Who, if only they would consent to drop their futile he-man objections to female authority and reconcile themselves instead to adhere forthwith to AFP constitutional female-friendly guidelines, really wouldn't be so very badly off ... in the scheme of things.

"But, when it comes to failing my prisoners of the fairer sex; failing to convince them to come to their senses and to ... see the light, my dismayed regret is a thousand-fold.

"It is quite unfathomable to me, that, otherwise bright and sensible young women such as Tina Marshall and her cellmate Janice Middleton, do not seize upon their golden chances of personal betterment.

"Inexplicable, why they do not take, what is there for the taking.

"Why Tina and Janice do not grab, with both hands, such unprecedented female-friendly opportunities.

"Why they do not gratefully grasp, such quality of life enhancing benefits and entitlements; such, undreamed of female-superiority privileges, as are so readily available to them in such glorious abundance under Prime Minister Caroline Flynt's Authoritarian Female Party government.

"And that, instead, and despite some of my finest officers' best attempts to correct and rehabilitate them, they so stubbornly resist.

"Repudiating on principle the rightfulness of their entitlements to all of these proffered precious privileges, moralistically they persist in their sadly misguided beliefs and steadfastly refuse to recant their seditious political leanings."

I shuddered to think what the Governor meant by the 'best attempts' of some her finest officers ...

"My girlfriend Tina and her best friend Janice fervently believe in equal rights, Governor. You have just put your finger on it: they are both highly principled and very moral-minded. They both believe in male-female equality, and-"

"Quite, quite. But thankfully all of that is now consigned to the past. The AFP and their female-friendly ideology are here to stay. I know that you know that - and please don't bother to deny it.

"Ms Harmman has assured me, from reading your two Sock Room supervisors CSOs Karen and Linda's daily reports, that you have now come to terms with the new reality.

"That, evidenced through your subdued manner and reverential demeanour and obedient compliance towards not only the authority figures of CSOs Karen and Linda but also to the Sock Room attendee females Ms Harmman has assigned you to serve, you have shown that you now know your place.

"Ms Harmman is now satisfied that your condition is such that in your own mind and in your heart of hearts you have recognised and accepted that the past is the past and what's gone is gone and that you have become reconciled to your own submissive and servile role in our new female-friendly Utopia.

"Which is why you are of such particular interest to me, David ...

"For their own, sake, even if they don't want to have their cake and eat it, prisoners Tina Marshall and Janice Middleton must at least learn which side their bread is buttered.

"The last thing the Authoritarian Female Party want is to be left with no option but to imprison the minuscule minority of dissenting females.

"So ... in the interests of securing Tina and Janice's release and preserving their freedoms, the AFP are willing to come to a compromise.

"Very generously, all that the AFP require is that Tina and Janice desist with their troublesome anti-AFP protests and cease their rebellious resistance, and turn a new - at least AFP-neutral page.

"Just simply agree to disagree. And consent to adopt a new, non-political standpoint henceforth.

"In other words: keep quiet and stay out of the AFP's hair ... which is where you come in, David."

What - as what my Sock Room supervisors had described as a 'decisive persuading factor' bargaining chip? I thought.

"I have been given to understand that in this vexed matter of bringing about prisoner Miss Tina Marshall's conditional freedom, if not quite her redemption, you may be of decisive persuasive influence."

So ... CSOs Karen and Linda had been in the know, after all. Albeit they were lowly CSOs, I knew now that insofar as I was concerned they were being kept in the loop by their superiors.

"And, if this little experiment turns out as well as my understanding of affairs of the heart inclines me to suspect it might, David, you may well be the template upon which I base my new ... Getting-them-to-see-the-light strategy."

So ... not just a bargaining chip, then. A guinea pig as well.

"David, despite your evident misgivings, what I am proposing is of mutual benefit: to me, to you, to Tina - and to Janice too, who I happen to know is also to you a very fond friend."

What's all this about? I wondered.

As though reading my thoughts, Governor Monroe got down now to the nuts and bolts of her brass tacks.

"To say the least, Tina and Janice are finding their extended stay with us - extended, due to their own, intransigent lack of co-operation - somewhat less than agreeable."

Ha! Who'd have guessed? Tell me something I don't know.

"But I know that Tina, to protect your feelings and save you from worry, has neither in her letters to you or during your weekly five-minute phone conversations, conveyed to you anything approaching the worst of her daily trials and tribulations."

I knew it!

Reading between the lines of her letters, I had been convinced of it myself: that she had been protectively keeping a heck of a lot back from me.

Confirmed now also, were my strong suspicions that the prison had all along been intercepting our written correspondence and listening in on our phone conversations.

"And I'm informed that you are less than happy with your community servant's assignment in Canford town's Sock Room ...?"

"That's, um ... one way of putting it, Governor."

"And I know that you have been as equally protective, of Tina - in keeping things, to yourself ...

"That, neither in your daily letters to Tina or during your weekly five-minute phone conversations with her, have you conveyed to her anything remotely approaching the worst of your hideous degrading experiences in the Sock Room.

"And that, neither have you told Tina that for more than three months now you have been working in the Sock Room for seven days a week - including your unremunerated ten-hour Saturday and Sunday shifts ...

"But, I'm pleased to tell you, David, that I believe it lies within your power to resolve both of your less than satisfactory situations."

"You mean ... talk to Tina? Ask her to turn a new page? I don't think so, Governor. I'm sorry, but I wouldn't dream of it. And anyway, Tina wouldn't listen. As I say, she is extremely principled and moral-minded. And she's set in her mind. Especially so, where the AFP is concerned. She wouldn't hear, of-"

"Oh, but I think she might, David. When she hears that you are about to be admitted to Greystone Prison yourself ... because she and Janice won't come to their senses."

"Wh-what? M-me? But-"

"Of course, I would hate to have to do it, and it would greatly pain me, but ... should it come to it, having you admitted here would be a mere formality. And, once incarcerated ... who knows when you might see the light of day again?"

"But ..."

"But at least you would be consoled with the thought that any time you spent here with us would be time spent well.

"Not least, because like all prisoners here you would undergo and thus be improved by our daily doctrinal inculcation of female-friendly ideological values. The specially chosen Personal Rehabilitator I would assign to your Female-Friendly Personal Improvement Programme would be charged with making certain of that."

"Ma'am?" said prison officer Bella Donna. "I would strongly recommend officer Analise as Community servant David's Personal Rehabilitator."

"Thank you, officer Bella Donna," the Governor said, writing something in the notepad on her desk.

"But, I ..."

"Still ... why, upset yourself, in dwelling on the negatives?" said the Governor, pointedly pointing her pen at what she'd just written in her notepad, and then meaningfully looking in turn at prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo.

"When there's no need to."

So, this was the 'Sword of Damocles' that was meant to get Tina to 'play ball': The threat of having me imprisoned here. In Greystone Prison ... home of the Wheel of Chastisement.

And possibly even worse: the workplace of prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo.

And possibly even worse still: having prison officer Analise assigned as my 'Personal Rehabilitator' ... ("And, Community servant David: End up here, and ... I might even make you my bitch.")

I couldn't know for certain whether Governor Monroe was just putting the frighteners on me or whether her threat was genuine.

But I had to assume it was no bluff. And it certainly didn't feel like an idle threat.

Nevertheless, even for my sake I seriously doubted I could get Tina and Janice to change their anti-AFP stance, and to "turn a new - at least AFP-neutral page".

Tina would say that we couldn't just simply give in, to such heinous governmental oppression.

That some things in this world are worth fighting for.

That, some things were bigger than her; bigger than her and Janice - and bigger than us.

That, some things were worthy of sacrifice.

Was this my time, to stand up and be counted, too?

To get up, off my knees, and to stand up again?

And to tell Governor Meredith Monroe 'No'?

Or, should I try to convince Tina that this whole AFP thing was just ... too big, for us?

Just too big, for us to go up against.

Just too big, for us to fight.

Should I try to persuade Tina and Janice to get 'out of the AFP's hair'?

Try to get them to put away their protest placards?

To desist, with their demonstrations?

And to 'see the light'?

On the face of it, the conditional offer did seem quite generous.

Tina and Janice could leave this awful place, and get on with their lives again.

But, when I, acting as Governor Meredith Monroe's ... special emissary, put the AFP's offer to Tina and Janice, would they decide that, yes, maybe their fight was futile, couldn't be won, and that enough was enough - and accept it?

Or, would Tina and Janice throw the offer back in the AFP's face ... effectively throwing me into Greystone Prison with them?

When my sudden unexpected chance to visit Tina had come up this morning, I certainly hadn't envisaged anything as fraught with peril as this!

"Governor, I-"

"David, there's a relatively good life to be had, under the aegis of the Authoritarian Female Party, for certain male ... conformists."

"But, Governor-"

"Convince Tina and Janice to ... see the light. And I shall release them.

"If they so wish, I can arrange through their local MP Ms Harmman to have them reinstated in their old jobs at the Burger Heaven fast-food outlet."

"But Governor, don't you see?" I blurted helplessly. "It won't matter what I say. It won't make any difference. Their anti-AFP positions are entrenched and intractable. There is just no way that Tina and Janice will back down, from their-"

"And I shall have you transferred. As early as next Monday. Out of that dreadful Sock Room, and into what I am sure you will find an altogether more agreeable assignment."

I couldn't help my curiosity.

"A new assignment, Governor?"

"The AFP's Minister for Prisons, Ms Lynne Truss, was here earlier. And, after she'd made her usual rounds of Greystone, and availed herself as usual of some of its ... facilities - which Ms Truss always looks forward to and rather enjoys - during our discussions over coffee she dropped into the conversation something she has said to me on numerous occasions before: that she would rather like the idea of sharing an 'Under-footman' with her Cabinet colleagues.

"Ms Truss is of a mind, that she would find an Under-footman's presence in her office ineffably agreeable: stress-relieving; sublimely soothing; incomparably comforting - and his broader, office-boy services, wouldn't go amiss either."

"A ... Under-footman, Governor?"

"Yes ... I'm sure you get the idea, David."

"Governor, I'm not sure, that I want to-"

"Think about it, David ...

"It would be your ticket out of the Sock Room.

"You could say goodbye, to Mrs Newlove and her cronies Gina Stainham and Cheryl Chubb ...

"Oh yes, Ms Harmman has told me all about them. Via your two supervisors CSOs Karen and Linda - who, from what Ms Harmman tells me, I'd bet you'd like to say goodbye to as well!

"Well, you can say goodbye to them all, David.

"And say hello, instead, to the AFP's Minister of Prisons, Ms Lynne Truss. And to Prime Minister Caroline Flynt. And to their Cabinet colleagues: Rachel Reef, Patti Patel, Dinah Abbey, Theresa Maynard, Amber Reid, Heidi Harlan, Lisa Candi, Anna Savoury, Nadia Dorris, Susan Power, Stella Casey, Yvonne Cooper, Les Kindle ..."

Veritably a stellar collection of Authoritarian Female Party governmental Heads of Department luminaries.

But if Governor Monroe thought that to me the fifteen infamous names of those authoritative women she'd just reeled off read like an all-star cast of Hollywood sex-symbol actresses, she had seriously misjudged me.

From seeing them all being interviewed on TV so often, I was sure I would recognise each and every overbearing, authoritarian, browbeating one of them should I ever meet them in person.

Just as, upon seeing her earlier, I'd instantly known the AFP's Minister for Prisons, Ms Lynne Truss. When by chance, we'd met briefly in passing as she was exiting the Security Checkpoint building accompanied by her haughty ministerial Jet Ranger helicopter pilot Isobel.

Upon her seeing my identity emblazoned on my white uniform T-shirt, Ms Truss had alluded then as to the matter now under discussion.

Governor Monroe went on, "Ms Truss told me today that she has now canvased Prime Minister Caroline Flynt and all of her Cabinet colleagues on the matter of the ... acquisition. And the result has been one of unanimous approval. All of them are most receptive - indeed, highly agreeable - to the notion of sharing an Under-footman.

"Sharing - at first, that is.

"Because if my new plan works out as successfully as I anticipate, once all Cabinet Ministers have been furnished with an Under-footman, subsequent thoroughly vetted specially selected dogsbody/factotum/foot servants, such as yourself, will then be assigned to their secretaries. And eventually, performing their menial but worthwhile, stress-relieving roles, Under-footmen will be serving Authoritarian Female Party personnel right throughout Government - central and local.

"This is your chance to be in at the beginning, David. You could have the distinction of becoming the Authoritarian Female Party's very first Under-footman. Surely you appreciate the privilege of the honour?

"Would you rather serve these, distinguished, AFP ladies of power, assigned to the decidedly more useful and infinitely more worthwhile senior governmental beck and call of any and all, in the officialdom of their comfortable Houses of Parliament offices ...

"Or remain in the Sock Room, in the power of the apparently maniacally obsessive Mrs Norma Newlove - who's raison d'etre, seems to be to do anything and everything she can to make your Sock Room servitude as miserable as possible?

"And remain, in the cruel clutches of her bitchy cronies Gina Stainham and Cheryl Chubb - who, from all accounts appear to ride the same Hobby Horse as Mrs Newlove, in that apparently they are similarly ambitioned and almost equally malicious and malevolent in their determination to reduce you to wretchedness?

"And remain, too, subject to the casual capricious callousness of many of the other Sock Room attendees.

"Some of whom - as we know from CSOs Karen and Linda's documented reports - must be to you like treble-trouble women.

"Those, exceptionally cruel, females, who particularly delight in having you Standard-Sixed - some of them, revelling in administering the bare bottom caning personally ... as well as availing themselves, of the personal pamperings and pleasures of your ... extra-laundry, services.

"And, last but not least: To remain, hand-washing all of their dirty, stinky socks every day - for seven days a week.

"Because let me make this clear, Community servant David double-oh-seven. Fail me now, and you can be most assured that I shall exert to ensure to the last sinew of my own, not inconsiderable influential muscle, that without any hope of a transfer, you will remain stuck in your sad and sorry Sock Room situation ...

"The permanent, sock-washer and foot servant, to the females of Canford.

"That is ... if I am to indicate in my report to the AFP's Minister of Prisons that our little chat today has resulted in an adverse outcome.

"If I am to inform her that, regretfully it has not gone as I'd reasoned that it would, and confidently opined that it would - and indeed assured her that it would.

"In a nutshell: If you were to disappoint Ms Lynne Truss, by thwarting her and her Cabinet colleagues' expeditious acquisition of an Under-footman.

"But, no matter.

"Why dwell on the possible negatives?

"When there is no need to.

"When you can say goodbye, to all of that.

"And say hello, instead, and even possibly become assigned permanently - should you outshine your fellow specially selected Under-footmen - to the office of Prime Minister Caroline Flynt herself.

"When, all you have to do, David, is to get my new strategic plan successfully up and running.

"Off you go, then.

"Go along now, with officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo.

"And persuade your sweetheart Tina and her best friend Janice to ... See the light."

*


"Hands behind your back, Community servant David double-oh-seven," snapped prison officer Bella Donna, just as soon as we were outside Governor Meredith Moroe's office.

"What? But, the Governor! She said-"

"It's what I say."

"But-"

"And I won't tell you again about backchat! You are now seriously overstepping the mark!"

I was pushing my luck again, I realised.

By now I should know better than to argue with the Ice Princess - let alone defy her.

"Yes, officer Bella Donna," I said respectfully. "But, please, not so tightly this-"

And again, it was all I could do not to cry out in pain and protest as again with a grunt of gratification she cinched her handcuffs closed over my wrists painfully tight. "If I decide you've earned it, through good behaviour and improved manners and impeccable respect ... I might loosen them just a little."

"Now come on, Community servant David - let's go!" prison officer Billie Jo said sharply.

"And you'd better hope, too, that babysitting you doesn't cost officer Bella Donna and me our late-sitting lunch break in the Staff Canteen - or tight handcuffs will be the least of your worries!"


*


Apart from the three of us, there were no other passengers in the lift and so prison officer Bella Donna pressed the pad of her pale-skinned clear nail varnished index finger on the No. 5 button.

The door closed, and then slowly we began our ascent from the Ground Floor to Greystone Prison's highest Floor - Level 5.

Deeming it prudent to remain silent, I said nothing as I listened to my two escorts' casual and, not so much unguarded, as complacent, carefree conversation.

Which, despite its short duration was information-rich, instilled fear into me, and also confirmed some earlier uneasy feelings I'd had about the two woeful prisoners I'd seen being escorted down the steps at the side of the Staff Canteen at the badgering behest of prison officer Siobhan ...

Prison officer Billie Jo said, "That was a nice touch, Bel. Recommending to the Governor that, should this bozo here with us find himself enjoying a spell of our renowned hospitality, Analise be assigned as his Personal Rehabilitator."

I stared at the lift's floor, listening to the two of them enjoying a little chuckle about that.

Prison officer Bella Donna then slipped her right foot from its foam-rubber soled flip flop and said, wiggling her toes to air them, "Which reminds me ... prisoners Lightwood and Chapman's release dates are both coming up again soon, BJ."

"So we'll just tell the Governor what we told her last time: 'I'm afraid prisoners Leonard Lightwood and Ross Chapman are showing signs of lapsing again, Ma'am. Perhaps their sentences should be extended a little longer ...?' That's always worked for us before, Bel. You know the Governor usually acts on her officers' recommendations."

"We've really and truly brought those two to heel, haven't we, BJ?"

"Yeah, Bel. Quite literally. Though to be honest, I think you've got the better of the two of them with Lightwood. He was actually quite spirited. And at least he is a real man - I can always tell the type: a gallivant who has obviously been around the block a few times and has plenty of notches on his bedpost. Unlike that total loser Ross Chapman, who has just as obviously never made proper use of his dick - and now thanks to me he never will. That gutless wimp Chapman soon had it worked out that it would go a lot better for him if he just rolled over. Whereas Lightwood gamely held out defiantly, didn't he? Again and again, despite the canings you gave him, and the face-slappings - and possibly only Melanie can match you, at that skill - he defied your authority and said 'No' to you. Offering more in the way of a challenge from so steadfastly refusing to assume the position for Foot Service."

"Well, no, not really, BJ. If you remember, Len Lightwood was quite resistant - but only at first. Until I ball-kicked all the spirit out of him on the Wheel."

"Yes, that does the trick with most prisoners. Once they've been on that little round-trip, they'll do anything to avoid having to ride the Wheel a second time."

"It put paid to Lightwood's defiance, BJ. That's for sure. But his initial stubbornness was only for show - it was never going to amount to anything more than a futile token gesture. A lot of prisoners are like that, aren't they? They seem to feel that enduring a ballbusting is some kind of prerequisite reconciliatory right of passage they have to go through before they can forgive themselves for giving in to what in ninety-nine per cent of cases is inevitable - submitting to providing Foot Service."

"You really let Lightwood have it, didn't you Bel? For saying 'No' to you. As a member of the Caning Party detail, I remember it well."

"After reading my souped-up report citing the measure of Lightwood's wilful intransigence, gross disrespect, and refusal to acknowledge the unquestioned authority of a prison officer, the Governor prescribed a course of the ultimate treatment at maximum dosage - five turns of the Wheel. I wanted Lightwood to think twice in future about crossing my line. Before each of my five kicks, I whispered a little something in his ear, just to think on about that. But really, just one turn would have been enough for him to see his mistake and come to understand the errors of his ways. He was begging the Governor to call a halt to proceedings, assuring her of his complete submission and vowing his future obedience and compliance to the orders and instructions of prison officers, after I'd kicked him in the balls just twice. Do you remember how pathetically he grovelled at my feet afterwards, BJ? Swearing to obey me? To always give of his very best in serving me? Promising in future to assume the position for Foot Service, immediately and respectfully, upon his being required to do so by myself or by any other prison officer whether by day or by night? Oh, I made him change his tune, didn't I? He's certainly not a One-in-a-hundred!"

"You certainly kicked all of his ladies' man cockiness and confidence out of him, Bel. No wonder you had him so reverently on his knees before you. Crying his eyes out in front of the Governor and all the rest of us in the Caning Party detail and the officers who'd been given leave to come down to the gymnasium to spectate and cheer us on. Your performance was sublime. Your poise, exquisite. Anyone who doesn't know you as well as I do wouldn't have seen that you were exerting your powers of self-control to their limits. Although Lightwood had enraged you, your coolness under pressure was outstanding. Your delivery technique in administering the ultimate chastisement was as clinical and as masterful as ever. I remember you greatly impressed Governor Monroe with your demonstration of consummate professionalism - and you certainly delighted and evoked the admiration of the rest of us. Lightwood was truly devasted. Five sweet, glorious, precisely timed, beautifully administered kicks to his balls as you could ever wish to see - a lesser skilled officer might have ruined him."

"I'm always careful, BJ. Mindful of our prisoners' between-the-legs' wellbeing."

"Heh heh heh ... Me, too. And neither Lightwood or Chapman have said 'No' to us since, have they? No longer do they venture to cross our lines. We don't even have to raise our voice to them anymore. We have broken their wills. Crushed their spirit. Dimmed the light in their eyes - as you say, Bel: brought them to heel."

"That's right, BJ. Our planned objective has reached a most satisfactory state of fruition. Our carefully calculated, drip, drip, drip instigation of Lightwood and Chapman's unthinking obeisant submissiveness to us - of their ingrained, fearful obsequiousness - has worked. Their future respect - their conditioned reverential obedience - is guaranteed."

"Yes, Bel. Their unquestioning, unhesitating compliance with our every order and instruction, is a given. So it'd be a shame, now, to let go to waste all of the bespoke training and personalised Foot Service guidance we've gone to all the time and trouble to invest and instil into them. A shame, not to maximise our power over them and take full advantage of their conditioning - both now, and in the future."

"Exactly, BJ. We've done all of the hard work. Now we just need to keep our foot on their necks."

"Lightwood is yours, Bel, and Chapman is mine. They'll leave Greystone Prison when we do - and then they'll come with us. Those two are ours, Bel. Not just now - but for keeps."

The lift now arrived at Level 5, and the doors opened - but prison officer Bella Donna pressed a button to close the doors again.

"Bel ...?" said prison officer Billie Jo.

Prison officer Bella Donna now slipped her left foot from its foam-rubber soled flip flop. And, as again she wiggled and splayed her French pedicured toes to air them, she told her colleague what was playing on her mind.

"Have you noticed, BJ, that Siobhan seems to have a bit of a ... well, a crush, for Lightwood? I know Siobhan is developing something of a soft spot for him. She is displaying abnormal, unhealthy - and, more importantly, unprofessional - feelings for him. I have never yet seen her slap his face, or cane him - let alone kick him in the balls. And I'm convinced that it's only for form's sake, that sometimes she raises her voice to him ... It's obvious she wants him for herself. Which, is a pity. Because unluckily for Siobhan, there is something about Leonard Lightwood that makes me want to keep him, for myself. Siobhan has to understand and remember that he's mine. If I took it into my mind to discard Lightwood, Siobhan could then have him, and welcome. But I have no such intentions."

"Yes, Bel. I've seen the way Siobhan looks at Lightwood. The way she is, with him. I know that when she's on Night Duty patrol, she spends a lot of time outside his cell - not that I blame her. Lightwood's a very good-looking young man, after all - and he's certainly Level 5's best and most popular provider of Foot Service. But I don't think you've got anything to worry about, Bel. Siobhan knows the score. She knows what the limits are: what she can, and can't do, to another officer's bitch."

"I'm sure you are right, BJ. Still ... I suppose the occasional reminder to Siobhan wouldn't go amiss."

Prison officer Bella Donna then unclipped her Walkie Talkie from the breast pocket of her pale blue blouse. "Control ... Control, this is Officer Bella Donna. Over."

"Control receiving ... this is Officer Natalie. Go ahead, Officer Bella Donna. Over."

"Nat, could you do me a favour? Could you find out which table prisoners Lightwood and Chapman are providing lunchtime Table Service today? And then ask Siobhan, who I've just seen on Staff Canteen Door Duty, to book it for BJ and me for the last lunch sitting at two o'clock? Over."

"Hey - no problem! I'll radio Siobhan now. Consider it done, Bel. And hey ... enjoy your lunch! Over and out."

What was all of that about 'Table Service'? I wondered.

I was sure about one thing: Listening to something underlying the tones of both prison officer Bella Donna and Receiving Officer Natalie in Control, they were certainly not referring to table service in the conventional sense of the term.

But now, when at last prison officer Bella Donna pushed the Open button, all such sympathetic thoughts and empathetic commiseration as to the unsavoury lunchtime duties and unthinkable permanent attachments of cellmates Len Lightwood and Ross Chapman were promptly expunged from my mind, as the lift's doors finally opened on Level 5.

Where, as well as those two tragic unfortunates, Tina and Janice's cell, was situated.

"Come on, Community servant David," said prison officer Billie Jo. "You've got some talking to do."

"Out!" snapped prison officer Bella Donna, just in case I hadn't got the message.

And for once, I was only too glad to obey an order issued to me by the Ice Princess.

*

Community Service continues in Ch. 14.