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

Community Service Ch. 14.

Ch. 14: Community servant David Smith faces an uncomfortable day and an uncertain future.


At the harsh prompting of my two beautiful but black-hearted escorts, 'Jailhouse Blue' prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo, it was with welcome relief but also with no small measure of trepidation that I stepped out of the close confines of the lift and onto the highest floor of Greystone Prison - Level 5.

Unexpectedly - after repeatedly having my applications for a Visitor Pass either refused or rescinded by the Community Service Liaison Officer and MP for Canford, Ms Harriet Harmman - I had found myself being transported here at the behest of Governor Meredith Monroe's sudden and surprising summons ... To deliver to my girlfriend Tina and her best friend Janice, the Governor's preconditional Get out of jail/Sock Room transfer proposal as it pertained to the three of us.

Of course, Governor Monroe didn't care a jot about me or my own, Sock Room servitude situation.

I was, to her, just a very useful bargaining chip - and, in the event of her heartstring-tugging, "Getting them to see the light" experiment proving to be the unqualified success she was confidently predicting, my example would become her strategic template. Her modus operandi, for adjusting the mindsets and realigning the priorities of all of her other rebellious and romantically attached female prisoners.

No: it was Tina and Janice, who were causing Governor Monroe's great unease of mind. Her great sadness of heart, even.

Her distress, at the idea that Tina and Janice, in these 'female-friendly' times, in refusing to accept and take advantage of their rightful 'privileges' - but moreover through their dissident, entrenched political leanings and intransigent anti-AFP stance - had, to all intents and purposes, incarcerated themselves in Greystone Prison.

But though I knew that through my selfish weasely thoughts and treacherous, "conformist" actions I was tantamount to demeaning Tina and Janice's highly moral positions and even belittling their costly courageous acts of self-sacrifice in standing up for male rights, I wanted to go for it.

For my part, I was more than willing to accept the sudden and unexpected provisional 'deal' Governor Monroe was putting on the table.

But, heaven help me!

When I'd so eagerly got into the Securi-Fem prisoner transport van this morning, I'd had no idea I would be finding myself in such an invidious position.

In my inner turmoil, a part of me was demanding to know how I could even think of agreeing to put the Governor's cunningly caveated proposal to Tina and Janice. Let alone, recommending they accept it - even asking them, to accept it.

But having now had a little time to think about it, I wanted to grab this out-of-the-blue 'opportunity' with both hands.

After all, Governor Monroe had said she would personally see to it that if I "let her down" now I would never be offered such a life chance opportunity again. I would have made my bed, and I would forever have to lie in it.

My assignment to the Sock Room would be for good. I would remain, in-situ, and be the "permanent sock-washer to the females of Canford".

With such a prize, within grasp - with such a carrot, being dangled in front of me - I was now finding myself being persuaded to the view, that perhaps now was the opportune time for Tina and Janice to end their exercise in futility.

To stop fighting a battle they couldn't possibly win.

To ... give up the ghost.

Though I hated myself for thinking it, maybe it was time for Tina and Janice to go along to get along.

But not just for my benefit.

By now Tina and Janice had surely done their bit. They'd gone above and beyond, in making their point. Hadn't they both done enough?

What was the point in continuing to put themselves through their cell-bound wretchedness - when nothing but further 'Jailhouse Blue' administered miseries and abuses could ever be the reward for persisting with their stoic and heroic, highly principled and right-thinking stance?

By now, with only the lame duck Preservative Party complaining feebly from the political sidelines anyone but the willfully delusional could see that Prime Minister Caroline Flynt's Authoritarian Female Party government had no real opposition to speak of and that they and their 'female-friendly' institutions, facilities, projects and programmes were here to stay.

As Governor Monroe herself had said, if I could get Tina and Janice to "see the light" it would be my "ticket out of the Sock Room".

So what, if it would be a case of 'Out of the frying pan and into the fire'?

Reassigned, at the instigation of the Minister for Prisons, Ms Lynne Truss, to serving her and her AFP government Cabinet Minister colleagues in their respective departmental offices as their shared "Under-footman" - ostensibly an office dogsbody and errand-runner.

But, as Governor Monroe herself had so matter of factly and unashamedly intimated, the implied 'underlying' duties of the position were self-explanatory.

And, shared, that is, while Cabinet Ministers awaited the provision of their own Under-footman. Supplied, just as soon as another thoroughly vetted released prisoner or reassigned community servant could be obtained and assigned to them.

So yes - it was certainly a case of, 'Out of the frying pan and into the fire'.

But at least it would free me, at last, from the cruel clutches of my across the road neighbour from hell and nemesis, Mrs Norma Newlove.

Norma Newlove: The unforgetting and unforgiving and indefatigably vengeful and vindictive woman, for who it was all 'personal'.

Over these last long months, through her imaginative Sock Room malefactions and evil-minded wider influences, she had made by far the biggest contributions to making not only my sock-washing servitude but also my life, in general, a waking nightmare.

It would free me, at last, from the multitudinous mistreatments and equally wicked machinations of Norma's similar aged and like-minded callous cronies - young-housewifey attractive, Sock Room 'regulars' Gina Stainham and Cheryl Chubb.

No more daily stressing, over trying to hand-wash clean in mad hot soapy water the ingrained and all but irremovable dirt from the habitually shoelessly perambulating Gina's favoured long white cotton sport/leisure socks.

No more dreading, my beginning of the week humiliations at the foot of Cheryl's 'Spectators' Gallery' padded black leather recliner, after her 'dirty weekend'. Licking and sucking clean, as other sock-changing females amusedly looked on, the by now gruesome grimy soles and the ghastly in-between-the-toes gunk, of her habitually days' unwashed, 'Monday-morning feet'.

It would free me, at last, from all of Canford town's other sock-changing females.

Most of whom, to be fair, patronised the Sock Room not from malice but merely from a sense of civic duty.

But some of whom, the Sock Room brought out the bitch in them.

Upon crossing the Sock Room's threshold, like Jekyll-Hyde characters, some sock-changing females seemed to transform, promptly morphing into their 'other' selves. Along with their dirty socks, they cast off the restraints and inhibitions of their surface characters and assumed their 'other' identities. Because, in the Sock Room, they could be 'themselves'.

And, it would free me, at last, from pulling inside out all of their dirty, stinky socks, and hand-washing them to the fussy, nitpicking, hyper-critical inspection-passing standards of my two cane-happy Sock Room supervisors CSOs Karen and Linda.

But it was not my decision.

It was out of my hands - not my call to make.

Would Tina and Janice, accept Governor Monroe's tabled offer-with-provisos?

Would they agree to leave behind them the daily miseries of confinement - and worse - in their wretched cell, and return to the modest but inexpensive and comfortable flat they shared and to the jobs they enjoyed, working as counter assistants at one of Canford's High St fast food outlets, Burger Heaven?

Would they agree, to the "at least AFP-neutral" terms of their "non-political, keep quiet and stay out of the AFP's hair", conditional release?

It was Tina and Janice's decision to make, not mine.

But if they said no, our Greystone Prison/Canford Sock Room situations would not just remain unchanged - both their own, cell-bound circumstances and my Sock Room drudgery detail would become cemented into more hardened and reinforced realities.

But the questions that haunted me were: If Tina and Janice did agree to the release terms of Governor Monroe's proposal - but just for my sake - would they ever forgive me?

For letting them down.

For betraying them.

For turning AFP "conformist".

And the biggest question: Would it be the end, for Tina and me?

In my increasing anguishment at what might now lie immediately ahead, all of these troubling thoughts flitted across my mind as, with officer Bella Donna's over-tightly fastened handcuffs restraining my already sore wrists behind my back, taking my elbows she and her colleague Billie Jo ushered me along the landing of Level 5.

*


To my right, was the landing's standard five-barred safety rail - one rounded horizontal bar per each foot of height.

I was close enough to it, to be able to see down through the series of safety nets to the square-shaped Ground Floor.

Plainly audible, was the seemingly ever-playing 'background music' of Graystone Prison: not the conventional 'slammer' loud clanging and banging of needlessly slammed steel-barred cell doors - but the slap-slap-slap-slapping sounds of the Jailhouse Blue female prison officers' uniform foam-rubber soled flip flops.

The flexible footwear could be heard rapping against the officers' bare heels as they went about their duties, or walked to the Staff Canteen for their lunch break. Or, as I could see as I looked down below upon a group of six of the pale-blue shirted, pale-blue short denim skirted Blues - even while they stood and chatted in pairs or larger gatherings.

Gossipping animatedly and laughing, and the most favoured posture: standing, with the foot of their relaxing, bent at the knee leg tucked for steadiness and stability behind their other, weight bearing ankle - slap, slap, slap, slap, slap.

As though sensing she was under observation, standing with her back to me one of the six gathered and chit-chatting Blues I was looking down at turned around a full 180 degrees and looked up. As though having detected an enemy target, her eyes tracked me, locked on.

Seeing my identity emblazoned upon my white uniform T-shirt - Community servant David 007 - upon registering her watcher's societal sub-status her face clouded and darkened.

I found it upsetting, unsettling, and deeply disturbing, to know that I was the cause of closing down such vivacity and ebullience, and of dulling the dancing eyes and transforming the animated features of the drop-dead gorgeous young woman's beautiful face into such hardened, antipathetic planes.

Noticing her sudden distraction, and her apparent discombobulation, the other Blues' eyes followed the upward direction of their colleague's now unsmiling, hostile gaze.

Now, these other five Blues' animated gossip trailed off, to an unnatural curtailment; their fun-loving laughter died a premature death on their lips; and their absentminded crossed-ankle slap-slap-slap-slapping of their flexible flip flops ceased, to leave an ominous silence.

Upon seeing all of their upturned, beautiful features now also all clouding and darkening in frowns of disapprobation and displeasure, I averted my eyes.

The same as worn by my two Sock Room supervisors CSOs Karen and Linda, and by many other Authoritarian Female Party-affiliated females including some Cabinet Ministers, the Blues' uniform adopted but severely cut AFP-adapted concave bobs lent the natural authority and presence the female prison officers exuded, something extra. An even sterner, unsettling - almost sinister - aspect. In itself, their somehow scary hairdo was warning enough to deter or, at the very least, discourage subordinate males from making direct eye contact.

As officer Bella Donna had made crystal clear to me and thus put me on notice: As far as the Blues were concerned, only a wafer-thin line separated my community servant's status from that of the convicted prisoners here.

A browbeating and face-slapping warm-up to wake up my ideas, followed by a mind focusing few dozen strokes of their expertly administered canes to my bared bottom, and then finally a few of their equally expertly delivered barefoot kicks between my forced apart legs to ram their message home - would greatly benefit the likes of me.

There was no question in my mind: That was the small gathering of standing and chatting Blues' unmistakable message as the six of them stared up at me, the essence of compassionless implacable authoritarianism.

To my left: the cells on this, eastern side of the four-sided landing of Level 5.

As prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo glanced into the cells as they walked by, it was impossible to miss the sudden alarm - and, where some inmates were concerned, the fear and dread - that suffused the captives' faces.

Forewarned by the approaching slap-slap-slap-slapping sounds of flexible foam-rubber soled flip flops and therefore the imminence of their prison officer wearers' authoritative and overbearing presence, prisoners who were lying on their bunks or sitting on their tubular framed canvas folding chairs got up from them with an alacrity born of pure self-preservation.

Some of the intimidated inmates stood, head bowed, composing themselves in an attitude of resigned, if still begrudging, respect.

While others, clearly the more system-initiated longer serving and therefore the more demoralised and dejected and defeated and downtrodden of them, solemnly got to their knees, keen to demonstrate to whomsoever approaching female prison officers a more cowed, obeisant, submissive salutation - their homage.

Upon observing these fearful facial expressions and respectful and reverent reactions by the cells' clearly more inhibited inhabitants, the expression on my face hadn't gone unnoticed by officer Bella Donna.

"Yes, Community servant David," she said, conveying confirmation that once again she had read my uneasy thoughts.

She then stopped, looking into one of the cells.

And, at casting her cold appraisal upon the two respectfully unseated but still standing cellmates and bending her AFP-issue flexible bamboo cane meaningfully, now looking as though regretting they hadn't done so with promptness and at their own, voluntary behest, the self-imperiled pair finally got to their knees before herself and officer Billie Jo.

"As you have not failed to notice, Community servant David, convicts in Greystone Prison accord prison officers their due and proper respect ... if, sometimes, a little belatedly."

Prison officer Billie Jo said, flexing her cane menacingly, "This is unpardonable laggardness. In and of itself, a clear sign of blatant disrespect. I expect to see prisoners already on their knees by the time I arrive outside their cell, and staring out towards where my feet will soon be appearing. That is my minimum requirement. And if we don't see a marked improvement in their attitude, Bel, perhaps a ride on The Wheel of Chastisement will wake up their ideas."

"Good idea, BJ. It would be a great stress-reliever - Community servant David has been getting on my nerves and annoying me more and more. I don't think he has yet taken fully on board what I told him about his visitor status affording him scant, if any protection here, and his continued uppity peskiness is putting me right in the mood for a double-ballbusting."

"Yes, Bel. And one of them can watch, while his cellmate rides The Wheel first. We'll have Sidwell look on, as Mason undergoes the warranted three-barefoot-kick correctional treatment dosage, administered by you. And then Sidwell will take his three therapeutic revolutions on The Wheel, and I'll correct and rehabilitate him."

"Sounds good to me, BJ. And I'm just thinking ... Although it would be highly irregular, perhaps with the Governor's leave we could have Community servant David detained, to witness their chastisement - with Analise, a member of the detailed twelve-member Caning Party. Let him see a little of what is underneath Analise's sugar coating."

"Good idea, Bel. For certain, it would serve as a salutary lesson for the sock-washing supremo to observe first-hand Analise's unsurpassed prowess with the cane, and to see us both in ballbusting action and to witness for himself our devastating but non-ruinous ball-kicking expertise."

Under the continued unsettling stares and worrisome words of Ice Queen prison officer Bella Donna and her irascible colleague Billie Jo, the intimidated time-servers were by now completely unnerved and visibly trembling.

The daunted duo knew these were no idle threats.

Their brief bumbling bravado obliterated, and all semblance of what, painfully obviously now had been their affected, phoney unconcern, vanished - they weren't fooling anyone.

With just a few words and looks from prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo, in mere seconds I had witnessed cellmates Mason and Sidwell's faux valiant short-lived facade reduced to genuine utter permanent vanquishment.

There was no question that now, their ideas were well and truly woken up.

They wouldn't be so slow, in future, to go respectfully and reverently to their knees at hearing the first sounds of approaching flexible foam-rubber soled flip flops.

But, come to that, I was beginning to feel more than a little unnerved myself.

More than a little unsettled.

And more than a little worried.

As officer Bella Donna had earlier intimated, my visitor status was a too-thin insulation. Inadequate protection, should any of the female prison officers here feel inclined to breach it.

Gesturing to the two chastened inmates with her cane, officer Bella Donna continued, "Do you see, Community servant David, how they respectfully look down at prison officers' feet? It's because they know what will happen to them if they don't. Here, it is mandatory. The standard protocol.

"Because prisoners here, quite literally as well as figuratively, are brought to heel.

"Through both their intensive conditioning drip, drip, drip, daily doctrinal training in general and their one-to-one female-friendly instruction at the feet of their assigned mindset-adjusting Personal Correctional Rehabilitator, our prisoners are brought to heel.

"Brought to submit, unhesitatingly, unthinkingly - automatically - to female authority.

"Well ... That could so easily be you. With officer Analise as your Personal Correctional Rehabilitator."

"How about a quick demonstration, Bel?" suggested officer Billie Jo. "Just to give Community servant David an idea of what he'd be in for, every day, if he ends up in here because he can't get his girlfriend to see sense - which, from what we've seen of her so far is a real possibility."

In response, permafrost prison officer Bella Donna turned back to the two now reverently kneeling, visibly trembling cellmates and froze their blood anew with the full glacial force of her chillingly penetrating Arctic-blue eyed stare.

"Prisoners Mason and Sidwell - assume the position for Foot Service!"

Prison officer Bella Donna had barely raised her voice. But the tone of unbrookable authority in her command in addressing the two prisoners took my breath away and chilled me to the marrow.

She was a young woman you just did not say 'No' to - did not even think of saying it. It was as clear as could be.

No wonder prisoners Mason and Sidwell were trembling.

I was shaking a bit now, too.

And shaken.

Prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo made my two Sock Room supervisors CSOs Karen and Linda seem like a couple of purring pussycats by comparison. And that was saying something.

After the briefest of fretful glances at each other, the two terrified cellmates said simultaneously, "Yes, officer Bella Donna!"

I watched, embarrassed for them.

But also in amazement, as, grabbing hold of the grey-painted bars of their cell, adeptly, in an obviously oft-practised deft movement they inserted their legs to their full extent into what I saw later were torpedo-tube like hollows. Accommodations, which facilitated hauling themselves in a sitting position so that their faces were brought right up close to the bars of their cell.

Having 'assumed the position', prisoners Mason and Sidwell didn't await further instruction.

Affixed to the bars, to either side and just above the height of their heads, were lever-operated ratcheted leather cuffs, and they slid their hands through the loosened cuffs unbidden.

Apparently, they had undergone this procedure several times before, and they knew better than to needlessly annoy Foot Service availing officers by putting them to the trouble of having to tell them what to do next.

Besides; the self-endangering duo apparently hoped to make quick amends for their "unpardonable laggardness" and "blatant disrespect", in displaying their previous prevaricating ill-ventured face-saving folderol, and to get back into officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo's good books.

Well, good luck with that.

Because where those two were concerned, I doubted the concept was applicable.

Other than that they were already standing in front of them, I could see evidenced no other indication of preference or particularity as officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo set about fastening the leather cuffs to the wrists of prisoners Mason and Sidwell, respectively. Levering the ratcheting mechanism three or four times, they exerted themselves, at last, to achieve maximum tightness.

Upon firmly securing their wrists, my two escorts turned their backs on the now securely fixed-in-place, forward-facing cellmates but remained standing, leaning back against the bars directly in front of the subdued, resigned pair.

It struck me as odd that inmates Mason and Sidwell's faces were behind officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo's legs at their mid-calf level. It seemed to be rather low, albeit the two luckless cellmates were sitting comfortlessly on their cell's cold and uncushioned smooth concrete floor.

Looking for an explanation for this curious conundrum, that was when I noticed that a ramp led down into the cell. It was this declination, then, that accounted for the slight elevation of the landing outside.

So, the ramp/elevated-landing configuration was not a constructional discrepancy but a deliberate design.

Not a structural slip-up, not a builder's faux pas, not an architectural mishap - but an inbuilt facilitation to Foot Service.

Prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo's next actions corroborated my incredulous conclusion.

Shucking free their right foot from their uniform issue flexible foam-rubber flip-flop, respectively prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo's work begrimed bare soles reached up behind them and protruded easefully and unerringly between the cell's bars to perch upon prisoners Mason and Sidwell's perfectly positioned and compliantly accommodating human-footrest faces.

It wasn't an easy thing to be made to watch.

To have to stand there, and be obliged to observe the heinous humiliation of two helpless men by their malicious advantage-taking female prison officer captors.

What made it all the more appalling, was the sheer nonchalant, no-big-deal casualness and complacency with which prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo perpetrated the hideous atrocious abuse.

And what made it all the more disturbing, was knowing that what I was witnessing was, in Greystone Prison, systemic.

What I was now seeing was 'normal'. Every-day. Routine. Commonplace.

The female prison officers here - the so-called Jailhouse Blues - enacted their AFP-approved perpetrations and indulged their perfidious predilections with a protective sense of no-comeback untouchability - of comforting impunity.

Despite my growing sense of unease, of concern - of threat, and of my too-thin insulation vulnerability - I couldn't just stand there, looking on, and say nothing of my outrage.

"This is a scandal, officer Bella Donna," I said, knowing as I said it that I was self-immersing in piping hot water.

"This is a crime, officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo, against male dignity. An unspeakable affront. An unconscionable ..."

But, from the bug-eyed, avid expressions on prisoners Mason and Sidwell's faces, as they stared up past prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo's shapely thighs, I was given cause to wonder if the two 'Jailhouse Blues' were wearing any panties under their uniform pale-blue denim short skirts.

Prison officer Bella Donna's next words confirmed my disbelieving suspicion.

"I can see what you are thinking, Community servant David ... and you are not wrong. Let the Governor down and end up in here as officer Analise's bitch, and you will soon see for yourself."

The sheer unabashed brazenness of officer Bella Donna's raunchy revelation left me lost for words.

Telling me much more than I needed or wanted to know, prison officer Billie Jo elucidated. And I believed everything she said, as she spoke matter-of-factly, convincingly, and all too graphically.

"Allowing prisoners to look up our skirts and showing them our pussies as they sniff, kiss, suck our toes, and tongue-bathe the soles of our feet as we use their faces for footrests is an integral part of their daily female-friendly conditioning.

"Finding sleep utterly impossible as they lie in their miserable bunks at night, kept awake by persistent and unshakable upskirt remembrances of our tantalisingly close but frustratingly untouchable and ever-unattainable charms and wiles, they deny themselves ... succour.

"But not for long.

"Because eventually, they succumb to the inevitable.

"Despite the prisoners' great dislike of us, relentlessly teased, titillated, and tormented beyond endurance by those long-lingering upskirt images - inevitably they capitulate.

"Despite their intense aversion to us, and loath beyond bearing to hit rock-bottom by sacrificing the last tatters of their self-esteem in self-imposed carnal devotion to us - inevitably they throw in the towel.

"Despite knowing that via their cell's night-vision enabled super-enhanced CCTV they are providing live entertainment for prison officers on Night Duty and recorded laughs for other Blues - inevitably they surrender.

"Frustrated beyond tolerance, prisoners turn at last to what is at best - at least, to real men - the grievously unsatisfying and short-lived remedial anodyne of last resort: self-administered succour.

"And so: in their so ashamedly but freely taking things in hand, and so reluctantly but willingly abusing and degrading themselves, and so begrudgingly but yet still consciously choosing to empty their balls in our honour ... they accord us the ultimate accolade.

"Now, take note, Community servant David. Watch, how assiduously prisoner Sidwell is applying himself. See, how diligent he is, in his Foot Service attentions and oral ministrations. Observe, his single-mindedness and intent focus upon the matter at hand, the importance of which, cannot be overstated - this is what I call respect ...

"And there is nothing - and I mean nothing - so sensually, so deliciously satisfying and gratifying as having the soles of one's hardworking dirty sweaty feet thoroughly tongue-bathed by a reluctantly obliging male."

Prison officer Bella Donna, now inserting the bottom of her round, reddish-pink right heel deeper into prisoner Mason's increasingly severely challenged mouth, said, "Unfortunately, we don't have time now to put prisoners Mason and Sidwell through anything even approaching their full repertoire of Foot Service functions."

"Please, officer Bella Donna. You needn't bother, on my-"

"So I'll just have prisoner Mason suck on the bottom of my heel - which is something I particularly enjoy.

"Especially, when performed by my bitch prisoner Lightwood. Who's capacities and capabilities I've had surgically and mechanically improved and enhanced permanently ... but that's another story.

"Putting men in their place, literally as well as symbolically, is one of the great satisfying joys of serving as an officer in Greystone Prison. Or, in fact, in any one of the AFP's new purpose-built female-friendly focused Correction and Rehabilitation institutions that, because of increased dissident elements, have recently come into service.

"So, just a quick, five-minute demonstration for you ... Nonetheless, I'm sure you get the idea, Community servant David. You are, after all, assigned to your hometown's Sock Room - at least for now, anyway."

I thought it was about time I reminded the Ice Queen of something.

"With respect, officer Bella Donna, you keep saying that: making veiled and unveiled references to officer Analise and hypothesising unrealistically as to my being incarcerated here and becoming her ... bitch. Excuse me, but I think you have forgotten what the Governor said. She said that if I let her down, she would use her influences to have me assigned to Canford town's Sock Room permanently - and I'm beginning to believe that actually, I would rather prefer that. Hellish as it is."

"I don't need you to remind me what Governor Monroe told you - Community servant David 007! Believe me. I am not without my own, considerable influence where Governor Monroe is concerned.

"Whenever I have made a direct request of her or whether I have merely planted a seed in her mind that has then germinated and flowered entirely to my satisfaction, she has always gladly given me or passively let me have my way.

"So what you might or might not rather prefer is immaterial.

"And you need to understand that - before you go too far! Because you are now stretching my patience with you to breaking-point: I am not accustomed to lippy backchat from disrespectful little whippersnappers who mistakenly consider themselves immune from my AFP-vested discretional powers of authority - and of on-the-spot punishment!

"You think I'm hypothesising unrealistically? Oh, you have no idea!

"And yet, you are a Sock Room community servant. Assigned, by your Authoritarian Female Party MP to earn your weekly government handouts by hand-washing your own townswomen's dirty socks!

"Don't you understand yet, Community servant David, you fathead?

"In these new, female-friendly times of the AFP era, anything could become of you.

"Any number, any type - limitless - female-friendly services and uses, might be availed of or made of you.

"And if you give me any further cause to decide that you will become officer Analise's bitch, officer Analise's bitch, you will become - believe it!"

Prison officer Billie Jo chipped in, "And then, because good-looking young men like you are always an instant popularity, not only will you be officer Analise's own, personal bitch, but one of the select go-to, extremely well-used foot-slave favourites of every officer in Greystone Prison - including Governor Monroe herself.

"And not only that," she told me. "But you will also be in heavy demand by prison officers and civilian staff alike for Table Service in our Staff Canteen ... which isn't what you think it is."

"And not only that, either," prison officer Bella Donna rejoined, waspishly.

"Because those Staff Canteen, Kitchen, Admin and other civilian female employees will also visit you in your cell.

"Perhaps during one of their rest breaks, or maybe merely as a pleasant passing-the-time interlude while waiting for the bus home or for their husband or boyfriend to come and pick them up at the end of the day, they will visit you.

"And like us prison officers, they also will take the greatest of pleasure in ordering you to assume the position - and then you will pander to each and every one of their own personal Foot Service proclivities.

"And, as officer Billie Jo says, most surely you will be regularly detailed to Table Service duties.

"If you let Governor Monroe down by failing to talk some sense into your rebellious girlfriend's head in conveying to her and her cellmate prisoner Middleton the Governor's - in my view, overgenerous deal - before you leave here today I will take you down to the Staff Canteen. To let you see for yourself, just exactly what prisoner-provided Table Service entails."

Prison officer Billie Jo said, with quiet menace, "Hellish as it is, did you say, Community servant David? The Sock Room? Believe me. If you do find yourself imprisoned here in Greystone, you will soon find yourself dreaming fondly of your Sock Room. Officer Bella Donna and I will ensure it.

"And trust me: That is not an unrealistic hypothesis, not a veiled or an unveiled threat - it is a promise and a guarantee. And, the more I think about officer Bella Donna's idea of exerting her influences to have you delivered to Analise ..."

Now I was well and truly rattled.

Scared.

Not for the first time, I asked myself why I couldn't just keep it zipped.

If my Sock Room 'safety' was, actually as tenuous and as easily alterable as officer Bella Donna was suggesting, then why antagonise the Ice Queen into making it her business to drag me into this hellhole and her domain ... and, Analise's?

Because now, I no longer doubted the veracity of her words: prison officer Bella Donna had convinced me beyond a shadow of a doubt now that she did, in fact, hold such discretional fate-changing powers of 'procurement' - and much else - in her hands.

Prisoners Mason and Sidwell having now given "a quick demonstration" of Foot Service for my benefit, prison officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo now returned their freshly mini-serviced right foot to the floor and their flip-flop.

Pushing the ratcheting mechanism's quick-release button and then freeing the leather cuffs from prisoner Mason's now starkly whitened wrists, prison officer Bella Donna told him frostily, "I wasn't happy with your Foot Service performance just now, Mason. Not happy at all. Your heart wasn't in it. Was it, Mason? You will receive twenty strokes of the cane."

"I ... I'm sorry, officer Bella Donna. So very sorry! I-I did my best! I swear! I-"

"I'm not interested in excuses. Only in performance. And if that sorry, lacklustre performance is your best, it will be a long time yet before you are fit to be released into female-friendly society. Much, much better, will be expected of you.

"I haven't the time now to cane your bared buttocks, Mason - it will have to wait until later. But I warn you now: you are going to suffer - Community servant David has put me in the right frame of mind for administering a good caning.

"For now, report to officer Siobhan at the Staff Canteen. She's on Door Duty today, with officer Avril.

"Tell officer Siobhan that I have sent you, to provide lunchtime Table Service - if the tables are already fully manned, at her discretion she can relieve and assign one of the prisoners to other duties to allow you to table-serve in his place instead.

"And explain to her why: As further punishment, for your woefully inadequate application and wholly unsatisfactory interpretation of Foot Service."

"I'm so, so sorry, officer Bella Donna!" wailed prisoner Mason. "I'm so very-"

"Shut up, Mason - you snivelling excuse for a man - and get moving! Unless you want me to make it thirty strokes - and with a dozen face-slaps thrown in as well for good measure! In fact, one more word out of you, and I'll put you on The Wheel. I've told you: Community servant David's irritating, annoying irksomeness has put me on a war footing!"

Having now uncuffed prisoner Sidwell's blood-circulation threatened wrists, still chuckling over her colleague Bella Donna's vengeful tirade, prison officer Billie Jo told him, "That was most satisfactory, Sidwell. Very enjoyable, in fact.

"Particularly pleasant, was your unstinting application to the toe-sucking aspect of tongue-bathing - such tremendous wholehearted suction! And the harder skin, on the ball of my foot, and on the bottom of my heel, though you occasioned me no discomfort, feels well tongue-scoured of any loose flakey dead skin and refreshingly deep-cleaned.

"Credit where credit's due: I'm quite satisfied that your heart was in it. You came up to standard. No complaints from me, Sidwell."

"Th-thank you, off-officer Billie Jo," stuttered prisoner Sidwell, his surprise apparently every bit as great as his relief. "It ... it's good to know, officer Billie Jo. I ... I-"

"Now as a reward, you can go along to the Staff Canteen and provide Table Service with your miserable cellmate. It'll save you from getting lonely, left all on your own in your cell. Won't it?"

"Um ... y-yes, officer Billie Jo," replied the crestfallen Sidwell. "And ... thank you."

Not for the first time, I wondered uneasily:

Just what the hell is 'Table Service'?

*


Clearly motivated by self-preservation, the prisoners in the next five cells we passed had already debunked from their wafer thin-mattressed excuses for beds or unfolded themselves out of their tubular framed canvas folding chairs, ready to respond should any instruction now be issued to them.

To a man, the haunted look in their dulled eyes, the premature lines etched into their prison-pallor faces, and their dejected air of downtrodden defeat and demoralisation identified these inmates as belonging to the more system-initiated longer serving category of prisoner.

Upon their hearing the first approaching slap-slap-slap-slapping sounds of flexible foam-rubber soled flip flops rapping against the bare heels of their cane-crazy, face-slap happy, ball-bust loving female prison officer wearers, like penitents in sackcloth and ashes, the grim-faced grey-garbed cell's inhabitants had all respectfully and reverently gone to their knees in homage.

And I knew beyond doubt that all of these deferentially kneeling inmates - some, actually pressing their hands together in a prayer-like attitude, and their lips moving, clearly mantra-ing, in hushed worship-like tones as though in complaisant honouring and placation of wicked temperamental Goddesses: 'Officer Bella Donna, Officer Billie Jo ... Officer Bella Donna, Officer Billie Jo ...' - had also satisfied prison officer Billie Jo's stated "minimum requirement": to stare out through the bars of their cells to the elevated landing, to where prison officers' feet would soon be appearing.

And so, unlike prisoners Mason and Sidwell (who were, clearly in the minority - but after having some very uncomfortable realities brought harshly home to them, were now clearly in the majority), officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo had no immediate bones to pick with these fearfully fawning felons.

Turning now into the southern landing of Level 5, it was then that I saw the two prison officers - one of them lustrously black-haired, her partner a very striking white-blonde and both of them gloriously suntanned - whose breathtaking, literally stunning beauty I have never seen equalled.

By comparison, they almost made their other drop-dead gorgeous Blue colleagues look like Plain Janes - and that was saying something.

Standing outside a cell midway down the south side of the landing, the two visions of almost heart-stopping loveliness were leaning back against the grey-painted bars.

Both of them were perched comfortably in that, ineffably nonchalant, one-legged foot-raised-behind-them, stance, that told me they were availing themselves of Foot Service.

But what engaged my attention more than anything was that the delectable duo was leaning into each other and kissing passionately - they were partners, then, in more ways than one.

"Hi, Bel! Hi, BJ!" the unabashed, perfect-looking pair said pleasantly upon coming up for air and seeing my two escorts approaching, who, taking the lovey-dovey lesbian scene in their stride as nothing very much out of the ordinary, waved familiarly and smiled and said Hi back.

A moment later we had joined the two heart-stopping, breathtaking beauties.

Their name tags identified the lesbian lovers as prison officers Candice and Cordelia.

Turning to me, officer Bella Donna said, "Well, whippersnapper, we're here. You've got some talking to do. You'd better start making your pitch."

At first, I didn't understand.

"So, you are Tina's boyfriend - a community servant!" said the black-haired prison officer, Candice, with haughty disbelief.

Prison officer Cordelia rejoined, looking me up and down with withering disdain and open distaste, "Look at him - he's not even a real man! He looks even more defeated and downtrodden than some of the wretches we have here!"

"Community servant David works in a Sock Room," prison officer Billie Jo supplied helpfully. "Hand-washing his own townswomen's dirty socks for his dole money."

Officer Bella Donna said, "Yes, but maybe not for much longer. Because if he can't talk a bit of sense, into his seditious girlfriend prisoner Tina Marshall, I'm going to pull a few strings to have him pulled from Canford's Sock Room and admitted here to Greystone - Analise, seems to have taken a bit of a shine to him."

Prison officer Candice said, "Well, good. That's good. And if Analise decides to put him on The Wheel to break him in, I'll make damn sure I'm on the Caning Party detail."

"Yes, and so will I," said prison officer Cordelia, her voice dripping with spite. "In fact, I might Standard-Six him right here, right now, just for the sheer pleasure of it ... him - Tina's boyfriend!"

Prison officer Billie Jo interceded, soothingly, "Once he's safely inside Greystone - no longer Community servant David 007, but prisoner David Smith - you two will be able to cane him to your hearts' content, whenever you like."

"Yes - and so will we, BJ," put in prison officer Bella Donna.

"David ... D-David ..."

I thought my ears must be playing tricks on me ...

But no.

Because now, I understood.

For, looking down in cold dread in the direction of which I had heard that cherished and much-missed voice, now, at last, I saw Tina.

Positioned to a nicety between two grey-painted cell bars via her ratchet-operated leather cuffs, it was not, as I'd assumed, a male inmate's assuming-the-position human-footrest face, that was partially hidden behind the length of officer Candice's un-flipflopped, comfortably perched French pedicured sun-bronzed right foot ... But my girlfriend Tina's.

Tina couldn't but have heard every single word that these four Blues had just said.

Posing diabolically proprietorially, prison officer Candice threw down the gauntlet - dared me to say a word - as now she asserted her absolute authority and demonstrated her total mastery over Tina.

Prison officer Candice stared at me challengingly, provokingly, her eyes, glinting in triumph and glee, daring me to utter so much as a single word of complaint. As ...

As the bottom of her bare heel pressed firmly into Tina's conveniently positioned front-facing forehead for balance, steadiness and support; her clutching toes, closed around Tina's nostrils to aid said stability and security of otherwise uncertain one-legged stance but, apparently also, to ensure inescapable continued inhalation of her in-between-the-toes foot scent.

A keen aversion to males in general already and now, hating me in particular, with undisguised malice officer Candice goaded me, "As you can see, Community servant David ... the lovely Tina is my bitch."

Tina's assuming-the-position, human-footrest, Foot Service providing imposition though was not the worst of it.

Tina's bra had been removed, leaving her breasts bare.

Easily accessible playthings, for her all-powerful oppressor.

I then heard a pathetic, traumatised whimper - it was Janice.

Tina's best friend, former co-worker, former flatmate - but now, her cellmate. Sharing equally, in Tina's heinous predicament.

Similarly subjugated, Janice's attractive but now distressingly distraught face was also partially obscured, pulled forward via her ratchet-operated leather wrist cuffs into the perfect position between two bars to forcibly provide the same, ignominious human-footrest facial support to the sun-kissed bare sole of white-blonde prison officer Cordelia.

But though the middle part of her face was obscured, as with Tina, I could still see Janice's eyes ... and the look in them.

I looked away. It was the only decent thing to do.

Janice couldn't tolerate me seeing her like this.

Neither of them could.

Tina and Janice couldn't bear me seeing them so helpless, so vulnerable, so completely at the mercies of their diabolically dominating, advantage-taking lesbian female prison officer depredators.

So this was what was happening to them both, then, for getting in the Authoritarian Female Party's hair.

"Tina ... Tina ..." I said, choked, in my abject helplessness to assuage her and Janice's situation even in the slightest.

And I was no less helpless, as officers Candice and Cordelia then lowered their bare right soles to the vulnerable bare right breasts of their assuming-the-position 'bitches' Tina and Janice, respectively.

No less helpless, as I watched, seeing Tina and Janice's exposed nipples stiffening, at being played with, hardening, in inevitable arousal.

Stimulated, to involuntary and unwanted, but helpless and uncontrollable desire.

Excited, despite themselves, under their two tormentresses' sensitive and sensual, expert and knowing, roaming and probing playful soles and toying toe pads.

Fondling their respective bitches' defenceless, exposed right breasts, enjoying together the pleasure of the moment - getting off, on their own, perverted version of footsie - lesbian prison officers Candice and Cordelia leant into each other and kissed again, passionately, hungrily, unabashedly fingering each other now in their growing excitement.

"Well ... Community servant David?" prompted officer Bella Donna. "Haven't you seen enough, yet?"

I looked up to her.

Her pale-complexioned beautiful face was blurred, and her finely chiselled features, indistinct.

I tried to raise my hand to my teary eyes to clear my blurry vision, forgetting that officer Bella Donna's handcuffs were still restraining my wrists behind my back ... I'd stopped feeling, that pain.

Because, this new, all-consuming pain, was a million times worse.

"Come on then, whippersnapper - it's time to start talking," snapped the Ice Queen.

"Yes, come on - crybaby!" cajoled prison officer Billie Jo.

"David ... D-David ..." mumbled Tina.

Tina's voice was muffled, speaking made difficult again as prison officer Candice's diabolically dominating, human-footrest availing sun-bronzed sole once again took up its subjugative occupation of her conveniently positioned, Foot Service providing face.

"David ... D-David ..." persisted Tina. "It's ... all right. It's all right, D-David. Just, j-just agree to do whatever they want."

Beside her, Janice emitted a heartrending, empathetic sob.

"But, Tina. Tina, you, Janice. You, you've both gone through so-"

Prison officer Candice now obligingly let Tina speak.

"It's ... it's all right, David," Tina repeated.

"It's all right."

Prison officer Bella Donna said, satisfied, "Come on, BJ. Let's go and give Governor Monroe the good news: Her Getting-them-to-see-the-light experiment has worked like a charm."


Community Service continues - and concludes - in Ch. 15.