Part 5: C.S.O.'s Karen
and Linda put their foot down ... and their feet up.
I knew I was in trouble big trouble
as I listened to the vengeful tone of my two supervisors' running
dialogue as they frogmarched me across Canford town square, heading
towards the Sock Room ...
"Can you believe it, Lindz," said
Community Service Officer Karen, in tones that were more of wonder, than
of outrage, "that Sock Boy actually told us to sod off? Oh, I'm going to
make him regret those words the little squirt!"
"Double-oh-seven told us to go and take a
running jump, too, Karen. Don't forget that!" Community Service Officer
Linda, reminded her colleague. "And, what about him telling us that he
was refusing to come back to work in the Sock Room, that he was going
back to sleep, and then just throwing the bedclothes back over himself
and telling us to close his bedroom door on our way out if we didn't
mind? Eh? You know, the way he said it, and all? All sarcastic, like. I
mean, how insolent is that? Oh, I told you the little pipsqueak was
incapable of keeping a civil tongue in his head, didn't I? But he's even
more mouthy than I thought ... Well, I'll tell you one thing, Karen: I
am determined to cure him of that!"
"I thought Polly Pardew had brought him
to heel, Lindz. She certainly made him cry buckets, the way she caned
his bare bum, didn't she? Reminding him of all of his insolent offences;
pressing home her points, ticking them off one by one, with each and
every stroke of the cane. My god, she made him wail!"
"Oh, didn't she just she certainly
knows how to use a cane! She must have made him cry enough tears to fill
up one of the blue soaking tubs ha ha ha! But, to be honest, Karen, I
don't know what made him blub the most: Miss Pardew thrashing him, or
being so humiliated by Norma Newlove not to mention, Gina Stainham and
Cheryl Chubb ... Ha ha ha! Tormenting him with their stinky feet, while
he was handcuffed to the foot of Mrs Newlove's recliner oh, and Mrs
Newlove! Ha ha ha ha! Forcing double-oh-seven to 'pre-wash' her dirty
socks! Oh, she's got a wicked sense of humour, has Norma Newlove.
"In fact ... I got a real kick out of it.
Didn't you, Karen? Watching the show? I was getting off on it
big-time! I was getting really turned on. It was making me, you know,
all ... all wet. I couldn't stop, you know ... touching myself."
"Ha ha ha ha! Oh, I know, Lindz! Me, too!
It's not called a ... ring finger, for nothing ha ha ha! Yes, it was a
real buzz, wasn't it, Lindz? It really put me in the mood, made me come
over all ... romantic ha ha ha! Simon said I was like a sex-starved
nymphomaniac, last night, the way I tore his clothes off him when he
came over ha ha ha! Simon said, 'Weh hey! What's come over you?' And
Simon laughed his head off, Lindz, when I told him!
"And, the beauty of it all, Lindz, is
that we are actually getting paid four hundred pounds a week four
hundred pounds a week, Lindz! for something that we would gladly do
for nothing! I mean, the ... fringe benefits, are reward enough in
themselves, aren't they?
"And, if I was a betting girl, Lindz, I'd
say that Sock Boy, here, is in even more dread of the attentions of the
... of the Sock Room girls ha ha ha! than he is of our canes.
Something we should remember, in future, when we consider his
chastisement."
"Hmm ... I think you might be right,
Karen. Let the girls and women in the Sock Room have some fun with him,
you mean? Let them do what they want, with him ... whatever, they want?
Oh, Norma Newlove would love that ha ha ha! Can you imagine ...? She
seems to really have it in for double-oh-seven, doesn't she? You just
might have something there, Karen. That's definitely something we should
bear in mind."
"You know what's bugging me most, though,
Lindz? Something that Norma Newlove said this morning, before we
realised that David wasn't going to show up at the Sock Room, and we set
off in the van to pick him up at home ... Now, okay, we know that
there's obviously some sort of history there, between David and Norma
Newlove, and that she seems hell-bent on getting him into trouble, at
every opportunity ... But, what she said about her and Gina Stainham
seeing David in the Lord Nelson last night, with his brother John ... I
can't help thinking, that"
"Ah, yes, right. I think I know where
you're coming from, Karen. Now I get it. It's pretty obvious, isn't it?
Double-oh-seven, wouldn't"
"That's right, Lindz. David wouldn't have
had the guts to rebel against us not right off his own bat. He's
obviously had some moral support. This must be the work of his brother,
John. John is at the bottom of this. John is the one, who's been putting
ideas into David's head, getting him all uppity ... Well, Lindz, I'll
teach John Smith to meddle. I'll soon scupper him, the brass-necked,
interfering, trouble-causing"
I had deemed it wise to keep shtum, so
far. To ... put a sock in it, as it were. To remain silent, no matter
what my two supervisors said about me.
To keep it zipped ... even when I heard,
to my profound shock, C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda so brazenly telling each
other that they had found it a "real buzz", and that they had derived
sexual satisfaction no, sadistic gratification from seeing me
brought to tears of pain and humiliation.
To keep it zipped ... even when I heard,
to my utter incredulity, C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda saying enthusing!
that they had been "turned on", and that they had been "getting off on
it big-time!". From, not only the sadistic thrill of caning me
themselves, but also, from the excitement the dark titillation of
seeing their former PE teacher, Miss Polly Pardew, mercilessly and
energetically caning my bare bottom ("Your manners are not at all, what
they ought to be for a community servant!"), after they had handcuffed
me to the foot of my neighbour-from-hell Mrs Newlove's recliner, and
pulled down my white, community servant's uniform shorts, in accordance
with the C.S.O.'s chastisement manual.
To keep it zipped ... even when I heard,
to my sense of mortifying shame and belittlement, C.S.O.'s Karen and
Linda, gushing positively purring that they had been "touching"
themselves, as they watched "the show". That they had actually been ...
pleasuring themselves ("It's not called a ... ring finger, for
nothing!"), while I was simultaneously being devastatingly caned, by
Miss Pardew, and being comprehensively humiliated, at the tormenting,
stinky feet of Mrs Newlove, and by two of her ghastly Sock Room cohorts,
Gina Stainham and Cheryl Chubb.
To keep it zipped ... even when I heard
the final, icing-on-the-cake revelation of depravity; my sheltered mind,
screaming TOO MUCH INFORMATION! C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda saying, all
giggle-voiced, that as a result, of such ... stimulation, they had both
got ... "all wet".
I had resolved to remain silent. To keep
my own counsel, even as I learned of each of these shocking new insights
into my two young supervisors' inner characters. Insights, into C.S.O.'s
Karen and Linda's ... sexual proclivities. Insights, into their lustful,
licentious leanings. Insights, into their sadistic, pornographic
predilections.
But, now that C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda
had sussed out the truth of the matter, and had brought my brother John
into the equation, I was impelled to break my silence impelled to
intervene, in my older brother's defence.
"No! Please! Please, Miss Karen! Leave
our John out of this!" I pleaded. "It was, all off my own bat! John had
had nothing to do with it! He ... he"
"John had everything to do with it!"
yelled C.S.O. Karen. "He did didn't he? You wouldn't have dared,
David, to defy me and Miss Linda! Would you? John put you up to your
little game! Didn't he ...?" demanded C.S.O. Karen. "Yes, I thought so,"
she said in satisfaction when, red-faced with guilt, I made no reply.
"So, David ... you thought you could
thumb your nose at us, did you?" admonished C.S.O. Linda.
"Well, Karen, I knew double-oh-seven was
as thick as two short planks," said C.S.O. Linda. "But now, on top of
everything else, he is fibbing to us lying to our faces when he
knows we can see right through him! I mean, how stupid is he?"
"And, for all of his bluster and bravado,
Lindz, David is just a quiet little mouse ... Who hasn't lost his
virginity yet. I can tell. Can't you, Lindz? Eighteen years old, he is,
Lindz. Eighteen years of age, and you are still a virgin, David ...
aren't you? And in this day and age! Aren't you ...?" goaded C.S.O.
Karen. "Yes, I thought so," she said in satisfaction when, red-faced
with innocence, I made no reply.
"Ha ha ha ha!" laughed C.S.O. Linda
gleefully. "Yes! Now that you mention it, Karen, I can tell! Ha ha ha
ha! Oh, this has made my day! The secret agent's secret: Double-oh-seven
a virgin! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!"
And then the double-door entrance to the
Sock Room was before us.
And, at just the very sight of those
doors, I was dismayed, dispirited, despondent. Deeply depressed, just at
the very thought, of ... what awaited me, behind them.
Not least, because Mrs Newlove, my
neighbour-from-hell, was evidently here again.
She'd been here for all of yesterday,
too, on the opening day of the Sock Room ... She'd actually had a 'day
out', at the Sock Room. She'd actually come to gloat, and to watch me
earning my Unemployment Benefit, as a community servant. "Mum's got the
kids," she'd told me as she relaxed shoe-less on her recliner, her
trainers on the floor, beside her.
And, not content with making just my
life, a misery a waking nightmare she had, apparently, maliciously
blabbed to C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda, hoping to get my brother John in
dire trouble as well.
Upon C.S.O. Linda opening the double-door
entrance to the Sock Room, C.S.O. Karen said harshly, "Go on, then! Get
yourself in there ... Sock Boy."
* * *
It was now 09:30.
The Sock Room was getting busy ... and my
work was getting out of hand.
Maybe ten or fifteen of the girls and
ladies of Canford some of whom, I'd seen present here yesterday were
helping themselves to a clean pair of socks from the shelves, after
depositing their dirty socks into the receptacles provided: either
dropping them into one of the colour-coded wheelie bins, or leaning over
the two-barred safety railing and tossing them directly into the large,
open-topped hopper, marked: 'White Socks Only!'
At their seeing me being frogmarched into
the Sock Room by my two supervisors, some of the sock-changing females
stopped what they were doing, and smirked at me, mockingly. Others
sneered at me, derisively. While yet others, of them, smiled from ear to
ear, in delighted wonderment at the Sock Room's and, their sock
washer's very existence.
I'd told my brother John, last night,
that the Sock Room brought out the bitch, in many of the town's females
... And, looking at their mocking, derisive, sneering and contemptuous
faces now, I saw no reason to change my mind. The great majority of
them, had an arrogant, haughty air, about them. Smug, in the knowledge
that I was being brought here all but dragged here, kicking and
screaming to hand-wash their dirty socks.
Under the female-friendly rule of the
Authoritarian Female Party government, led by Caroline Flynt, a Sock
Room had been installed in every town and city in the UK. And I spared a
thought, now, for all of the other community servants who were in the
same shoes as myself ... well, flip flops. ("There will be a lot of
water, where you will be working, community servant David
double-oh-seven."), the Community Service Liaison Officer, Harriet
Harmman, had told me as she issued my uniform.
The Sock Room floor was littered. Strewn,
with the cardboard and plastic packaging that the sock-changing females
of Canford had simply discarded. Carelessly (many of them,
deliberately!) dropping the sock-related debris to the floor, when it
was just as easy for them to drop the rubbish into the large black
plastic bin provided for the purpose. And it would be for me, to come
back up here later and bag it all up ... as if I wouldn't have enough,
to be getting on with.
Upon our having descended the six wooden
steps, that led down into the basement level of the Sock Room, where all
of the laundering apparatus was situated, my two supervisors steered me
to the right. "The office, David," instructed C.S.O. Karen. "You know
the way ... down the short corridor, after your ironing station."
I was surprised, at C.S.O. Karen's
instruction. My work was piling up by the minute, and starting to get
way out of hand. Two or three of the colour-coded wheelie bins' lids, I
saw, couldn't close; the excess of girls' and women's dirty socks,
overflowing, and spilling untidily onto the floor.
I had thought that my two supervisors
would have immediately put me to work: Emptying some of those over-full
wheelie bins into the large, open-topped hopper clearly signed: 'White
Socks Only!' and filling up the laundry boiler tank with the dirty
white socks, for their two-hour minimum soak.
And then, as soon as I'd done that, have
me urgently cracking on with their former PE teacher Miss Pardew's
"little job" for me: hand-washing Canford High's Year Five schoolgirls'
sports socks ... 100 pairs of them. Because she'd said she would be
coming back to the Sock Room today, this afternoon at four o'clock, to
collect them. And, Miss Polly Pardew was definitely not going to be a
happy bunny, if I didn't have them perfectly laundered, and all ready
and waiting for her when she arrived. And, hell, I certainly had my work
cut out, if I was going to achieve that.
But, before I had even set one foot in
front of the other, towards C.S.O's Karen and Linda's office, a
sock-changing female's voice called out, halting our progress ... a
voice I knew.
The voice came from the vicinity of the
black padded-leather recliners of which there were four: two, on
either side of the six wooden steps, and situated behind the two-barred
safety railing, beyond which there was a sudden, five-foot drop-off to
the basement floor.
As one, C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda and I
looked up ... towards the voice.
"And, what time do you call this, then,
community servant David double-oh-seven?" demanded the highly indignant
voice ... And from the same recliner she had occupied yesterday: the one
just to the left of the six wooden steps (as seen from the upper level),
and that was situated opposite the dull grey, industrial standard
laundry boiler tank, in which the dirty (white) socks had their
high-temperature, two-hour minimum soak.
It was the voice ... of the woman who had
yesterday so fiendishly turned inside out her dirty, white cotton socks,
and maliciously stuffed them into my mouth. Pushing them in; her
non-too-gentle fingers, poking and prodding them in place, cruelly
positioning the revolting, gag-inducing, tangy-cheese flavoured soles
against the taste-sensitive roof of my mouth, and over my tongue ... my
palate.
It was the voice ... of the woman who had
then gleefully splayed, wiggled and scrunched her bare, Florida-tanned
toes, mere inches from my eyes. Goading me, as I had gagged and retched
on her stinky, sweat-stained socks; my eyes, watering freely and
copiously, in my acute distress and abject humiliation. Laughing at me,
as I had stood, helplessly captive, on the basement floor where my two
supervisors had handcuffed me: to the foot of her recliner, that was
situated on the upper level of the Sock Room, just inside the two-barred
safety railing.
It was the voice ... of the woman, who,
in the ecstasy of her undreamed-of triumph, had wickedly cupped my
nostrils in her noisome, blue cheese odoured bare toes, forcing me to
inhale the foul and fetid fumes of her in-between-the-toes foot stink,
comprehensively crushing my spirit.
It was the voice ... of the woman who had
so blissfully savoured my hideous torment. And who had so revelled, in
her utter, devastating humiliation of me, as ...
Activated, by my taste buds' sensing and
registering those rancid and revolting flavours, like a programmed
washing machine, my mouth had 'automatically' began to fill with saliva
... So as to "pre-wash" her dirty, disgusting, turned inside out,
ripened mature cheese flavoured white socks.
And, I'd had absolutely no control, over
the 'automatic' ... cycle process.
I'd had absolutely no control. And so I'd
had absolutely no choice ... as she had laughed, and laughed, and
laughed, and wiggled and splayed and scrunched her smelly bare toes in
triumphant glee, right in front of my eyes ... but to swallow.
And, to continue to swallow.
No choice, as, to my absolute horror, of
its own volition my throat had started to convulse; had started to open,
and close ... open, and close ... open, and close ... in a reflex,
uncontrollable unpreventable 'automatic' gulping action.
I'd had no choice, but to swallow down
and ingest, the resultant vile and viscous, rancid and revolting,
stomach-churning liquid.
I'd had no choice, but to swallow down
and ingest, the concentrated ... effluent, that, as the dissolving
'active ingredient' of my "pre-washing" saliva acted upon it, was
seeping out of the dirty cotton fibres of her stinky, tangy cheese
flavoured, turned inside out white socks.
It was the voice ... of the woman who
knew a thing or two, about laundry: My neighbour-from-hell ... Mrs
Newlove.
Mrs Norma Newlove. Who, in being eagerly
and enthusiastically egged on and abetted by "Sock Room girls" Gina
Stainham and Cheryl Chubb, had actually used my mouth, as her own,
personal ... 'automatic' washing machine, to "pre-wash" her dirty white
socks.
I hadn't realised, that my two
supervisors had been watching my face, and gauging my reactions. And,
when I then saw a flash of ... something, in their eyes, passing between
them ... I was filled with dread.
Because I knew exactly what they were
thinking.
Whatever else they might be, my two young
supervisors were certainly not a pair of proverbial dumb blondes. Far
from it. In a streetwise, quick-on-the-uptake, sort of way, they were
both ... canny. Quick-witted, sharply observant, astute and perceptive.
Nothing much got past them. You could rarely pull the wool over their
eyes ... at least, I couldn't. It was as if they both had finely-tuned
mental radars, that were always on red-alert, and that would instantly
ping! ... ping! ... ping! ... ping! ... in warning, whenever I 'tried it
on'.
It was like a constant game of cat and
mouse. And, there would always be ... consequences, when they caught me
trying to 'get one over', on them ... When the cats, caught their mouse.
C.S.O. Linda, had just said, before we'd
entered the Sock Room: "He is fibbing lying to our faces when he
knows we can see right through him!"
This was, I knew, a bit of 'Thought
Police' amateur psychology, on C.S.O. Linda's part. Designed to make me
stop ... and think twice. Designed to make me Walk Don't Run! Designed
to keep me on the straight-and-narrow ... Designed, to deter me from
'wrongdoing'.
I realised that. But C.S.O. Linda had
planted the seed. And I would often wonder, if my two supervisors
actually could, "see right through" me. Because C.S.O. Linda had planted
her seed in fertile soil. And, whenever I was thinking of 'trying it
on', there was always a little voice of warning at the back of my mind,
piping up, Don't do it they'll know! ... Don't do it they'll find
out! ... Don't do it they'll cane you!
But, especially ... insightful, was
C.S.O. Karen, who seemed possessed of the highly disturbing ability to
unerringly home in on my weaknesses. To find the chinks in my armour. To
discover, my ... vulnerabilities.
Not to mention, that she had, somehow ...
divined, my 'shameful' secret: "Double-oh-seven a virgin!"
I supposed that this must be what was
meant, by 'female intuition'.
And, I had never known, such
blood-draining, falling-through-the-abyss, feelings. Had never felt,
such intense, dreadful emotion. Had never experienced, such cataclysmic,
end-of-the-world, fathomless depths of anguish, as in that awful,
terrible, profoundly humiliating moment. I had never imagined, such an
acute sense of ... mortification, existed, as when C.S.O. Karen 'outed'
me.
I remembered what C.S.O.'s Karen and
Linda had said, just a few minutes ago, about letting the sock-changing
girls and women "have some fun", with me ... And I shuddered in dread,
just at the very thought.
Because C.S.O. Karen was right: As
terrible and as horrendously painful as the vicious, merciless
infliction of their devastating, whippy canes upon my exposed bare
bottom was, I was, even more in fear, of the heinous humiliations, of
the "Sock Room girls".
And I just did not want to find out, what
their idea of "fun", would be.
Or, to be more precise, what Mrs
Newlove's idea of "fun", would be.
Because, the disturbingly insightful
C.S.O. Karen, was right. There was, "some sort of history" between Mrs
Newlove and me.
It was nothing, really. Just something I
did, a few years previously, when I was just a mischievous, pesky kid. A
childish prank.
But, Mrs Newlove had never forgot ... or
forgiven.
"Get moving, double-oh-seven," ordered
C.S.O. Linda. "The office ... you know the way."
* * *
This was the first time that I'd been
inside my two supervisors' office ... but it wouldn't be the last.
The first thing I noticed, was the
obvious similarity to the Reception office in the Community Service
Operations Centre, where Harriet Harmman was Liaison Officer.
For, most of the wall space was taken up
with full-size, full-colour posters of leading Authoritarian Female
Party figures.
But, the poster that immediately captured
my attention, and held it fast, was the poster depicting the Prime
Minister, Caroline Flynt ... the woman who was, ultimately, responsible
for my being here, in the Sock Room.
Caroline Flynt looked, I thought, as
seductive as ever ... even if she was, old enough to be my mum. It was
as though she was looking down on me, with that sardonic smile of hers,
her dark brown eyes, mocking. I'd seen that same, demure, dimple-cheeked
'trademark' expression of hers many times, on TV. And, her mocking look
now, seemed to be conveying a personal message: Well, David, thank you
for your vote. You wanted to work ... and now, I have put you to work,
haven't I? Heh heh heh.
Yes. But I wanted a proper job! I didn't
mean like this! Having to hand-wash girls' and women's dirty socks! I
silently complained, to her inanimate, yet eerily life-like image.
In fact, looking at the other posters, I
saw that all of the senior A.F.P. figures' images were similarly eerily
life-like: the colours, so vibrant; the focus, so sharp. It was as if
the photographer, somehow, had actually managed to capture the A.F.P.
Cabinet Ministers' very ... personalities.
The poster of the A.F.P. Cabinet
Minister, to whom my attention was then drawn, was a mid-forties, quite
attractive, if stern-faced, woman, who I recognised instantly. I'd seen
her last evening, on TV, being interviewed on Channel Four's seven
o'clock news programme.
The rather attractive, no-nonsense
looking woman was the Home Secretary, Theresa Maynard.
Theresa Maynard wore her hair in the
same, concave bob style as the C.S.O.'s. And her just greying hair was
attractively streaked with highlights of silver and gold ... just like
in real life.
At first, I'd thought that the
full-colour poster of her, must be a blow-up of a sneakily-taken candid
photo. Snapped, presumably, by some serendipitous, just-by-chance,
on-the-spot paparazzo. I didn't think that the photo was of the sort
that would be released to the media, and circulated in general
publication ... But, having said that, it was here, in C.S.O. Karen and
Linda's office.
And so, upon seeing all of the other
posters, I could only conclude that the photographer hadn't been on the
spot, just by chance. And, what's more and, I'm certainly no expert
but, even to me, it was abundantly clear that all of the A.F.P. Cabinet
Ministers' pictures were taken by the same photographer: They were all
taken, in the same ... style.
The poster of Theresa Maynard, pictured
her full-length, and the angle of view was almost full-on. Smiling, she
was casually posed in a standing position, and she was looking right at
the camera lens. As was often the case, with the Home Secretary, her
legs were bare. And, with her right knee bent, the toes of her
lightly-tanned bare foot were pressing down on the inside of the heel of
her shoe a bright red flat causing it to stand up vertically.
I remembered what Mum had said so
approvingly last night, at dinner-time, about Theresa Maynard always
wearing nice shoes. And my two sisters, Alison and Denise, twenty-one
and twenty-three, respectively, and also my eighteen-year-old cousin,
Rose, who'd joined us for dinner, had all enthusiastically agreed with
Mum ... The women were shoe-mad, in our house.
During her interview, with the very
attractive, wavy blonde-haired TV journalist, Cathy Newton, who
co-presented Channel Four's flagship 7:00 p.m. news programme, Theresa
Maynard had laughingly told Cathy that the Sock Room scheme was Caroline
Flynt's own, personal brainchild.
I looked at some of the other posters,
drawing-pinned to cork-boards on the off-white painted walls of C.S.O.'s
Karen and Linda's office. And I readily recognised all of those A.F.P.
Cabinet Ministers' faces; every single one of them, synonymous with the
reprehensible repression of Caroline Flynt's Authoritarian Female Party
regime.
And it was like a hideous Who's-who, of
the agents of diabolical oppression ... The Minister for Employment,
Helen Highwater ... the Treasury Minister, Tessa Jewel ... the Minister
for Corrections and Prisons, Lynne Truss ... the Minister for Energy,
Donna Cole ... the Minister for the Environment, Elaine Green ... the
Transport Minister, Gill Carter ... the
"So, double-oh-seven," said C.S.O. Linda,
bringing me out of my disgruntled reverie. "Listen up, now. Listen up,
to what me and Miss Karen are going to say to you. Because, this is how
it's going to be, from now on ..."
"Every morning, first thing, you will go
into the kitchenette," continued C.S.O. Karen, pointing towards the door
at the back of the office, "and you will make two cups of coffee. One
for me, and one for Miss Linda: milk, and two sugars in both ..."
"And then, double-oh-seven," continued
C.S.O. Linda, "while Miss Karen and me enjoy our coffee, you will kneel
on the floor, by our desk ... while we use you as a footrest."
What, the ...? I thought. I couldn't
believe my ears. I mean, my two supervisors were just joking ... right?
They were just pulling my leg ... right?
"No!" I yelled in outrage, when I
realised that they certainly weren't joking, that they certainly
weren't pulling my leg. "I will do no such thing! You can cane me. You
... you can both cane me as much as you want! But I'll I'll never"
"Oh, but you will, David," said C.S.O.
Karen, confidently ... assuredly.
"Now, unless you want me and Miss Linda
to take our canes to you now, and give you the hiding of your life ...
you had better get yourself into that kitchenette, and make those two
cups of coffee, like I just told you."
*
Hell! This was just awful, I thought
miserably as I put the kettle on. Those two were a complete nightmare.
It was bad enough, them using me as their coffee-making skivvy as my
work got more and more out of hand. But, to so casually tell me, that
they intended to use me as their footrest their footrest! I couldn't
believe it.
Hell! This was just terrible, I thought
wretchedly as I got two thick white mugs from a cupboard above the
counter, spooned instant coffee into them, poured milk, and then added
two teaspoons of sugar into each ... just terrible!
And C.S.O. Karen had seemed so ...
assured, that I would obey her. So, no-doubt-about-it certain.
Well ... she had another think coming,
then they both did. Because I was certain, too! Because, I thought,
there was no way just no way! that I was just going to meekly kneel
on the floor, by their desk, while they used me as their damn footrest
while they drank their damn coffee!
*
"Coffee is served ... ladies," I said
in a manner that made it plain that I thought they were anything but
ladies as I offered their mugs of coffee to them on a small laminated
wooden tray that I'd found in a drawer in the kitchenette.
C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda glared at me;
their eyes flashing dangerously, giving me menacing looks. Particularly,
C.S.O. Linda, who pointedly looked at her friend and colleague, as if to
say: See what I mean, Karen?
And then, after they'd both put their
screen-savers on their computer monitors, C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda
rolled on their castor-wheeled computer chairs, from behind their desk
that was sited by the window, and that overlooked the flag-stoned
courtyard and, at which they were positioned opposite each other, so
that they could both look out through the window and monitor me and
came wheeling around to the inner-office side of their desk.
Sitting side by side, on their computer
chairs, my two supervisors accepted their mugs of coffee without so much
as a Thank you ... and then they promptly kicked off their A.F.P. issue,
black leather, thick-rubber soled, backless (clog-like) shoes, lifted
their legs, and pointed the soles of their uniform, yellow cotton
ankle-socked feet, right at my face.
Ugh! What a sight!
Averting my gaze, in distaste and
disgust, from the soles of their expectantly waving, ankle flexing, toe
scrunching feet, I looked out through the office window ... and I saw
the four coloured nylon clotheslines: one each, of blue, red, green, and
yellow ... the four colours, representing the quadrants of the
Authoritarian Female Party flag.
"Well ...? What are you waiting for,
double-oh-seven," demanded C.S.O. Linda. "Why are you gawping out of the
window cretin! instead of obeying my orders? Don't worry, you'll be
spending enough time out there, pegging up the thousands of socks you've
washed. Now, we've told you what to do now do it ... Humph! Right,
then. I will repeat, one last time: Get on your knees, before us, while
we use you for our footrest ... Now!"
"No!" I yelled. "I won't! And you can't
make me! Cane me cane me all you want. But I won't! I won't do it! I"
"Oh, but you will, David," said C.S.O.
Karen, confidently ... assuredly.
"Lindz, just pop upstairs a minute, would
you? And ask Norma Newlove, if she'd like community servant David
double-oh-seven to massage her feet for her ... with his tongue? Ask
her, if she'd like him to give her feet a nice, long, relaxing
tongue-bath, would you? ... Ask her, would she like us to handcuff him
to the foot of her recliner, so that she, personally, can order him to
put his tongue to work, for her? Sucking her heels, licking her soles,
sucking her toes and, licking all in between them, too for maybe ...
an hour, or so? Ask her"
I was shocked to my core. Profoundly
appalled. How could C.S.O. Karen, dream up something so hideous, so
odious, so totally diabolical? How could she inflict such a horror on
me? To perform a ... "tongue-bath", on Mrs Newlove's feet!
C.S.O. Karen, obviously, was even more of
a sadist than I'd thought!
"No!" I shouted. "You can't do this! You
can't"
"And Lindz," continued C.S.O. Karen, as
if I hadn't spoken, "if Gina Stainham is here, she also, might like
community servant David double-oh-seven, to give her feet a nice, long,
relaxing tongue-bath, too ... And Cheryl Chubb, too, if she's here ..."
This was monstrous! Absolutely heinous! I
could not let that happen ... Just the very idea, of it! It was gross,
heinous unthinkable!
Being made no, Mrs Newlove, personally,
ordering me to lick her bare soles ... to suck on her heels ... to
suck her toes ... and to lick in between her toes, for "maybe an hour,
or so" ... I just could not let it happen. I couldn't!
Not Mrs Newlove!
"No!" I shouted again ... But this time,
it was in tones of compliant capitulation, not defiant refusal.
And the taste, of such a bleak defeat
of such a humiliating surrender was like bile.
But, I knew when I was beat. I knew when
the game was up ... I knew when to fold.
"All all right ... all right, Miss
Karen," I said, my voice cracking, overcome by the awful emotion of the
moment. "All right, then. I'll I'll be your ... footrest ... your's,
and Miss Linda's ... Just just don't give me to Mrs Newlove ... okay?"
"We don't give you promises,
double-oh-seven only orders!" snapped C.S.O. Linda. "Now and don't
make me tell you again, or we'll take you upstairs now, and handcuff you
to the foot of Norma Newlove's recliner again, just like we did
yesterday! get on your knees, before us ... Do you hear me ...? Last
chance: Say, 'Yes, Miss Linda'. And now!"
I could see, now, that there was nothing
else for it. That there was no other acceptable alternative. That there
was no way out, of this terrible, humiliating predicament.
"Yes, Miss Linda," I said dejectedly.
This submitting to C.S.O.'s Karen and
Linda, and allowing them to use me as their ... coffee-time footrest
was bad enough. But, the alternative ...
*
C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda raised their
legs again, stretching them out towards me, expectantly. The soles of
their yellow cotton ankle-socked feet, once again pointing right at my
face.
"Kneel! Kneel there, double-oh-seven,
facing us," instructed C.S.O. Linda, in tones that were not to be argued
with, pointing her finger at the dark grey, institutional weave carpeted
floor, at a point between her and C.S.O. Karen's hovering, outstretched
feet.
The time for argument, with my two
supervisors, was now over. I knew I was defeated. My resistance, I knew,
was comprehensively crushed.
C.S.O. Karen, had intuitively spotted a
weakness, a chink in my armour ... a vulnerability.
And she had ruthlessly prised it wide
open.
Wretchedly, I looked at C.S.O.'s Karen
and Linda ... at my nemeses. And they looked back at me, expectantly ...
and authoritatively.
Sipping their coffee from the thick white
mugs ... while I went without.
Coffee, that they had ordered me into
their kitchenette to make for them ("milk, and two sugars in both"), and
had then accepted without so much as a Thank you.
Coffee, that, from now on I would have to
make for them, first thing, every workday morning.
Coffee, that, sitting side by side, in
their comfortable castor-wheeled computer chairs, they would enjoy
beside their desk, as they used me for their ... coffee-time footrest.
Wordlessly (I couldn't have trusted my
voice; it would probably have come out all whiny and cry-baby), I
complied with C.S.O. Linda's humiliating instruction.
I knelt, where and how C.S.O. Linda had
indicated I do so: on their office's dark grey carpet, between their
outstretched legs, and facing them.
And, once on my knees, I found that my
head was on a level with my two supervisors' outstretched, yellow cotton
ankle-socked feet; my face, midway between them.
On my knees, and facing them, C.S.O.
Karen was positioned slightly to my left, and C.S.O. Linda, slightly to
my right.
As it happened, neither of my two
supervisors had found it necessary to suffer the before-and-after
inconvenience of having to meddle about with the lever that
hydraulically adjusted the seat heights of their computer chairs ...
But, apparently, I was an inch or two too far away ...
So C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda hooked the
backs of their heels over 'their' shoulder, and together, exerted
sufficient pressure to enable them to roll their castor-wheeled computer
chairs forward, so as to avail themselves of the perfect, optimum
distance for comfort.
This put a whole new meaning to the term:
Being put in your place. And that was exactly what C.S.O.'s Karen and
Linda were doing now: Putting me in my place, and establishing their new
... routine.
In all my life, I had never felt so ...
used.
My two young supervisors, C.S.O.'s Karen
and Linda, were actually going to use me as their early-morning
coffee-break footrest and there wasn't a thing I could do about it ...
Unless, that is, I wanted to find myself handcuffed to the foot of Mrs
Newlove's recliner again, for her to ... have at me.
Simultaneously, C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda
placed first one, yellow cotton ankle-socked foot, and then their other
foot, ankles crossed, on top of 'their' shoulder.
And so, C.S.O. Karen's feet were resting
on my left shoulder, and C.S.O. Linda's feet, were resting on my right
shoulder ... as they put their feet up.
I felt my bare knees sinking further,
into the scratchy textured, nylon-rich fibres of the office carpet.
Sinking further, under the twin pressures of my belittling burden.
Sinking further, under C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda's ... oppressive,
weight.
And my heart was sinking, too ... sinking
further.
C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda, sitting
comfortably in their castor-wheeled computer chairs, with their ankles
crossed upon 'their' shoulders, sipped their coffee contentedly. Coffee,
that I had made for them and that they had then accepted without so
much as a Thank you ... while I went without.
Although the combined weight of my two
supervisors' resting legs and feet, upon 'their' shoulders, was both a
truly galling physical and mental imposition, they were a trial and
travail that I could just about tolerate.
But, what I was far less ... amenable to
what I certainly could not tolerate was C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda,
complacently taking it in turns to wave the sole of their topmost yellow
cotton ankle-socked foot, right in my face. Mere inches away, their
unpleasant foot odours, were both mingling, and wafting up my nostrils,
alternately.
But, when I turned my face to my left, or
to my right, in a bid to escape from their foul foot fumes, C.S.O.
Karen, or C.S.O. Linda, with the ball of their foot, would immediately
re-position my face, facing front again ... Facing, right towards them.
Facing, their concave bob framed, domineering faces.
I'd already seen the soles of C.S.O.
Linda's uniform, yellow cotton ankle-socked feet, close up. I'd seen
them yesterday morning, after she and C.S.O. Karen had picked me up at
home. When, while we were en route to the Community Service Operations
Centre, she had ordered me to massage her feet, in the back of their
A.F.P. van.
And now, I was seeing the soles of C.S.O.
Karen's uniform, yellow cotton ankle-socked feet, close up, too.
Extremely, close up. Right-in-my-face, close up.
C.S.O. Karen's feet, were a little
larger, a bit broader, and rather more prominent-heeled, than C.S.O.
Linda's feet.
I knew this, because I was now closely
comparing them had little choice, but to closely compare them ... With
their ankles-crossed, shoulder-perched, topmost feet right in front of
my face; side by side, and just mere inches away, I could hardly have
been closer, to their uniform, yellow cotton ankle-socked soles.
The bright yellow colour of their
ankle-socks, I saw, was coloured a slightly darker, brownish-orange, at
their heels, at the balls of their feet, and the area around the
undersides of their toes. Moistened, and dampened, by their foot sweat,
I realised uncomfortably.
"Well, Lindz, at least Sock Boy can make
a decent cup of coffee," said C.S.O. Karen, scrunching and flexing the
toes of her topmost foot in pleasure and appreciation, right in front of
my eyes.
"Mmmm, yes. But it's just as well
that's all I can say ... Or else we'd have yet another reason, to cane
his milk-white, scrawny bare bum, wouldn't we, Karen?" said C.S.O.
Linda, as she chidingly pushed my right cheek with the ball of her
topmost, ankle-crossed foot: once, twice, and a third time; a little
more forcefully, each time, for added emphasis.
Then, still looking at me, C.S.O. Linda
suddenly laughed. "Ha ha ha! If double-oh-seven had been as heavy-handed
with the coffee, as he was with the Kolour Kind detergent, yesterday,
we'd both be on a caffeine high for the next fortnight!"
"Ha ha ha ha!" laughed C.S.O. Karen. "Oh,
yes and that reminds me, Lindz!" she exclaimed. "I almost forgot: The
hundred pairs of socks that Miss Pardew brought in, yesterday. Canford
High Year Five schoolgirls' sports socks. Miss Pardew said she'll be
here at four o'clock this afternoon to collect them. Sock Boy will have
to give those socks top priority, Lindz, just as soon as we've finished
with him in here," she said as she then suddenly cupped my nostrils in
the undersides of the socked toes of her shoulder-perched, topmost
foot.
Taken by surprise, I'd got a whiff and,
what an awful stink! before I urgently whipped my face away to the
right ... towards C.S.O. Linda's waiting, predatory foot.
"Are you seeing Greg, tonight, Lindz,"
asked C.S.O. Karen conversationally. "I was thinking ... if you haven't
made any plans to go anywhere, I thought we could get Simon and Greg to
treat us to a nice burger in town, at Burger Heaven ... if you fancy it,
Lindz?"
At C.S.O. Karen's mentioning Burger
Heaven, I thought of the cheerful, lovely counter girl, Tina the
heaven, of Burger Heaven. "Why the long face?" Tina had asked me,
yesterday lunchtime when I had gone there during my lunch break. I
intended to go back there, too, if I could, sometime later in the week.
It might only have been my imagination wishful thinking! but, I
couldn't shake the feeling, that Tina had been ... interested, in me.
Anyways, I had to find out for sure.
"Okay, Karen," agreed C.S.O. Linda
brightly. "That would be great! You know me I'm always up for a
burger! I'll give Greg a bell later," she said as she then suddenly
cupped my nostrils in the undersides of the socked toes of her
shoulder-perched, topmost foot.
And, taken by surprise for a second time,
I'd got a whiff of them and, what a horrible stink! before I
urgently whipped my face away to the left ... back into the reach of
C.S.O. Karen's waiting, predatory foot.
Immediately, C.S.O. Karen cupped my
nostrils in the undersides of the socked toes of her shoulder-perched,
topmost foot.
But I was ready, this time.
I whipped my face to my right ... back
into the reach of C.S.O. Linda's waiting, predatory foot.
Immediately, C.S.O. Linda cupped my
nostrils in the undersides of the socked toes of her shoulder-perched,
topmost foot.
And I was ready this time, too ... But I
was outraged apoplectic! and I blew my top.
Pushed well past the limits of my
tolerance, tormented beyond endurance, I yelled at C.S.O. Linda, "Stop
that! Just stop it! I've said I'll make your coffee, and I'll even be
your damn footrest if that will keep me away from Mrs Newlove. But
I've got to draw the line somewhere. And this is it! I'm not going to
smell your stinky feet! I'm not! I mean it! I'm not going to"
"Oh, but you will, David," said C.S.O.
Karen, confidently ... assuredly.
"And I'm telling you now, that I won't!
This is it: The line. The line I won't cross. You can cane me cane me
as much as you want! I don't care! You can both use me as your damn
footrest, while you drink your damn coffee. And you can even handcuff me
to Mrs Newlove's recliner again I don't care! She's already stuffed
her dirty, cheesy socks into my mouth, and the horrible taste is still
there, even now so she might as well have her damn tongue-bath, too!
"So, there! You can do what the hell you
want Miss Karen, and Miss Linda. But, I am not, repeat, not, going to
kneel here, and"
"Oh, but you will, David," repeated
C.S.O. Karen, confidently ... assuredly.
I didn't know what C.S.O. Karen had in
mind. But, whatever it was, it wasn't going to work. I was adamant,
about that. Adamant!
"Have you any idea, any idea at all,
double-oh-seven, just how much trouble you are in, from your insolent
outburst?" asked C.S.O. Linda, icily. "I promise you now, that I will
use every means at my disposal, to put a civil tongue in your head."
Well, Miss Linda, I thought. You might
put a civil tongue in my head. But, there is no way, I thought, no way,
that I'm going to kneel at your feet, for you and C.S.O. Karen to put
your stinky toes over my nostrils while you drink your damn coffee ...
Until C.S.O. Karen plucked her
walkie-talkie from her utility belt ...
There came the crackling sound of radio
static, as C.S.O. Karen switched the device on.
C.S.O. Karen then leisurely recrossed her
ankles on 'her' shoulder, and she swung her now topmost yellow cotton
ankle-socked foot right in front of my face, and cupped my nostrils in
the undersides of her socked toes.
Urgently, so as not to inhale the awful
stink, I whipped my face away, to my right ... towards C.S.O. Linda's
waiting, predatory foot.
"Ma'am, this is C.S.O. Karen. I'm
speaking from the office, in the Sock Room. C.S.O. Linda is also
present, ma'am. Over."
C.S.O. Linda also leisurely recrossed her
ankles on 'her' shoulder. And she also swung her now topmost yellow
cotton ankle-socked foot right in front of my face, and cupped my
nostrils in the undersides of her socked toes.
Urgently, so as not inhale the horrible
stink, I whipped my face away, to my left ... back towards C.S.O.
Karen's waiting, predatory foot.
"Yes, C.S.O. Karen?" came the voice of
the Community Service Liaison Officer, Harriet Harmman, in reply. "You
are speaking from the Sock Room, you say? So I assume you must have a
reason for communicating via walkie-talkie, instead of by telephone? Go
ahead, C.S.O. Karen. Over."
C.S.O. Karen's topmost yellow cotton
ankle-socked foot immediately pounced again, firmly cupping my nostrils
in the undersides of her socked toes.
And, again, so as to avoid inhaling the
awful smell, I urgently whipped my face away, to my right ... back
towards C.S.O. Linda's waiting, predatory foot.
"Yes, ma'am, that's right," replied
C.S.O. Karen. "A disciplinary matter has come up, involving community
servant David double-oh-seven he'll be in your files, ma'am, as David
Smith, aged eighteen. He is also present, ma'am, because I want him to
listen in to both sides of our conversation. Over."
C.S.O. Linda's topmost yellow cotton
ankle-socked foot immediately pounced again, too, firmly cupping my
nostrils in the undersides of her socked toes.
And, again, so as to avoid inhaling the
horrible smell, I urgently whipped my face away, to my left ... back
towards C.S.O. Karen's waiting, predatory foot.
"I see, C.S.O. Karen ... Oh, so it's him
again, is it? I remember community servant David double-oh-seven very
well, very well indeed. You brought him to me barely an hour ago,
concerning another disciplinary issue. He'd failed to turn up for his
duties at the Sock Room. And when you went to his home to pick him up,
not only, did he grossly and repeatedly insult both yourself and C.S.O.
Linda, but he then refused to accompany you both back to the Sock Room,
necessitating in your having to forcibly remove him from his bed. And,
as his actions were clearly sanctionable, I fined him, by stopping his
next two weeks' Unemployment Benefit payments. Over."
C.S.O. Karen's topmost yellow cotton
ankle-socked foot was ready and waiting, and pounced immediately. The
undersides of her socked toes, firmly cupping my nostrils; her toes,
clutching tightly, more determinedly.
Urgently, before I would have to inhale
the awful stink, I wrenched my face away, to my right ... back towards
C.S.O. Linda's waiting, predatory foot.
"Yes, ma'am. And now, community servant
David double-oh-seven is being uncooperative again. He is refusing to
comply, ma'am, with the chastisement methods that C.S.O. Linda and I see
fit to impose upon him. Over."
C.S.O. Linda's topmost yellow cotton
ankle-socked foot was also ready and waiting, and pounced immediately.
The undersides of her socked toes, firmly cupping my nostrils; her toes,
gripping powerfully, more insistently.
Urgently, before I would have to inhale
the horrible stink, I wrenched my face away, to my left ... back towards
C.S.O. Karen's waiting, predatory foot.
Oh, I thought ... They could keep this up
all day long, these two, if they wanted. But so could I. And, they would
give in, before I did! Because, there was no way, no way, that I was
going to kneel here, and compliantly sniff their stinky feet, while they
sat there, drinking their coffee! No way!
"Oh, is he, by heaven! So ... what is it
you have in mind, C.S.O. Karen? Over."
C.S.O. Karen's topmost yellow cotton
ankle-socked foot pounced, yet again.
And, yet again, I urgently diverted my
face, to my right ... back to where C.S.O. Linda's topmost yellow cotton
ankle-socked foot, was ready and waiting.
"Well, ma'am, it has been reported to us,
by a Sock Room frequenter, a Mrs Norma Newlove, that community servant
David double-oh-seven was in the Lord Nelson pub last night, having a
drink with his older brother, John he'll be in your files, ma'am, as
John Smith, aged nineteen. Over."
C.S.O. Linda's topmost yellow cotton
ankle-socked foot immediately pounced, yet again; her toes, gripping and
clutching at my "uncooperative" nose ... And I was starting to get fed
up of this nonsense really fed up!
But, yet again, I resolutely wrenched my
face away, to my left ... back to where C.S.O. Karen's topmost yellow
cotton ankle-socked foot was poised, ready and waiting.
But now, I had cause for pause ... C.S.O.
Karen had just mentioned my brother John. But why? John had nothing to
do with this! Why was he being brought into this?
"Well, C.S.O. Karen," replied the Liaison
Officer, dryly, "it's not a sanctionable offence, for a community
servant to have a drink in a pub ... not yet, anyway. Over."
C.S.O. Karen's left-shoulder perched,
topmost yellow cotton ankle-socked foot immediately pounced again, and
with equal resolution; her toes, holding onto my nose with a startlingly
powerful grip ... If she also, was getting fed up with this nonsense,
she was certainly showing no sign of it.
And, again, I wrenched my face away, to
my right ... back to where C.S.O. Linda's topmost yellow cotton
ankle-socked foot was poised, ready and waiting.
"No, ma'am ... But sedition is. Over."
And now, I had further cause for pause
... I didn't like the sound of that word 'sedition' one little bit.
"C.S.O. Karen, did I just hear you say,
'sedition'? Over."
C.S.O. Linda's right-shoulder perched,
topmost yellow cotton ankle-socked foot, pounced yet again.
And, yet again, I pulled my face away
from the undersides of C.S.O. Linda's nostril-cupping, socked toes ...
Diverting my face back to the left; back to where C.S.O. Karen's topmost
yellow cotton ankle-socked foot was poised, ready and waiting ...
But, less forcibly half-hearted, almost
this time.
Because I now had the most terrible,
sinking feeling. It was a gut-gnawing feeling, of inescapable,
doom-laden dread. A feeling, of impending, and unavoidable disaster.
"Yes, ma'am, you did. That is what me and
C.S.O. Linda suspect John Smith to be guilty of, ma'am. We don't think
community servant David double-oh-seven would have the guts, ma'am, to
rebel against us not right off his own bat. He must have had some
moral support. We believe that it is his seditious brother, John, who is
at the bottom of this. That he must have been putting anti-establishment
ideas into his easily-led younger brother's head, and that that is what
has made him all uppity, ma'am. Over."
And now, I realised, that one word
'sedition' was going to change everything.
And that this had been, I now finally
understood, the fiendishly astute C.S.O. Karen's angle, all along. And,
why it was, that she had been so confident ... assured. Why it was, that
she'd been so sure; so, no-doubt-about-it certain. It was because she'd
had this ace up her sleeve, all along ... just waiting for the right
moment to play it. To trump me.
"I see, C.S.O. Karen. Then this is a very
serious matter. Very serious, indeed. So ... what is it that you
propose, then? Over."
C.S.O. Karen leisurely recrossed her
ankles on 'her' shoulder, again. This time, though, she didn't
immediately cup my nostrils in the undersides of her yellow cotton
ankle-socked toes ... Because she wanted my obedience, and my compliance
... right off my own bat. She just pointed her finger at her
shoulder-perched, topmost foot, and silently mouthed the word: 'Sniff',
before replying to the Liaison Officer.
"Ma'am, I've accessed Records on the
office computer. And, according to his dossier, John Smith is currently
working as a chef on one of the North Sea oil rigs Omega Three. He
earns pretty good money, and, well ... Over."
C.S.O. Karen was still looking at me ...
expectantly. And meaningfully pointing to her shoulder-perched, topmost
foot ...and silently mouthing the word: 'Sniff'.
"And we could easily put a stop to that,
couldn't we? And put a big spanner in his works, too, just for good
measure ... If community servant David double-oh-seven won't come to
heel? Is that, what you are saying, C.S.O. Karen? Over."
Yes. I knew, now, where the disturbingly
perceptive insightful C.S.O. Karen was going with this. She had, I
realised, unerringly found another weakness. She had detected, and
homed-in on, another chink in my armour. She had discovered, and
zeroed-in on, another ... vulnerability.
And she was mercilessly prising it wide
open.
C.S.O. Karen knew, intuitively, that I
wouldn't let John take the rap. She knew, that I wouldn't let him take
the fall. She knew, that I wouldn't let her and her A.F.P. superiors,
"put a big spanner in his works". Not ... if it was in my power to
prevent it.
"Yes, ma'am. I was thinking, that we
could remove John Smith from his well-paid chef's job on the oil rig.
And we could helicopter him directly to the helipad at the Community
Service Operations Centre, and, well ... Over."
C.S.O. Karen was still staring at me ...
expectantly. And she was still pointing to her left-shoulder perched,
topmost foot ... and she was still silently mouthing the word: 'Sniff'.
"Remove John Smith from his well-paid
chef's job on the oil rig ... and assign him duties as a community
servant? If community servant David double-oh-seven, either now, or at
any time in the future, fails to bow to your authority, or refuses to
comply with the methods of chastisement, as chosen by yourself and
C.S.O. Linda? Is that, what you are saying, C.S.O. Karen? Over."
I'd heard enough ...
I knew when I was beat. I knew when to
fold. I knew when to say, Yield! I knew when to throw in the towel ...
When to wave the white flag.
C.S.O. Karen was still staring at me ...
expectantly. She was still pointing to her left-shoulder perched,
topmost foot ... and she was still silently mouthing the word: 'Sniff'
... But now, she was also splaying her socked toes, suggestively ...
accommodatingly.
"Ma'am, that is exactly, what I am
saying. It will be his brother John, who suffers the consequences ... If
community servant David double-oh-seven won't come to heel ... And stay
there. Over."
And now, I knew when to "come to heel",
too ...
And so it was, that, by putting aside my
own feelings my very sense of worth I managed to overcome my acute
abhorrence, at submitting to such soul-destroying, under-the-heel
subjugation ... and, that I finally obeyed C.S.O. Karen's dreadful,
profoundly demoralising bidding.
Right off my own bat, I compliantly
placed my nostrils under the ready-to-receive, accommodating toes of
C.S.O. Karen's left-shoulder perched, topmost yellow cotton ankle-socked
foot.
But, this time, when C.S.O. Karen's foot
stink hit me, I did not urgently whip my face away, to my right, before
I would have to inhale it.
Instead, I did, inhale it. Inhaled,
C.S.O. Karen's foot odour. Inhaled, her awful, revolting,
in-between-the-toes, socked foot scent ... And C.S.O. Karen smiled.
Smiled, in the satisfaction of my having been successfully "brought to
heel".
This was a living nightmare.
But it was my living nightmare not
John's. John had meant well. John had only meant to help help me out
of my living nightmare. But John had, to all intents and purposes,
committed sedition had tried to undermine the authority of the
Authoritarian Female Party. "Just don't go back." (to the Sock Room),
John had advised me. But, John's advice, however well-intended, had
turned out to be ... counter-productive.
And so John was now in great danger, not
only of losing his well-paid chef's job on one of the North Sea oil
rigs, but of losing everything even, his very sense of worth if he
was assigned duties ... as a community servant.
Well, I couldn't allow that to happen.
Not only, would it absolutely ruin John,
but it would also devastate Mum and Dad, too. And so, I had to keep John
out of this out of this living nightmare.
And I could! It was in my power, to do
so. In my gift.
Just as long, as I came "to heel" ... And
stayed there.
Eventually, with the ball of her
left-shoulder perched, topmost foot, C.S.O. Karen pushed my face to my
right ... towards C.S.O. Linda's topmost, right-shoulder perched,
waiting, predatory foot.
But C.S.O. Linda didn't pounce, this
time. Because she knew, now, that there was no need to ... absolutely no
need at all.
C.S.O. Linda knew, just as well as C.S.O.
Karen knew, that I was beat. That I had folded. That I had said, Yield!
That I had thrown in the towel That I was waving the white flag ... That
I had "come to heel."
Casually, leisurely, C.S.O. Linda
recrossed her ankles on 'her' shoulder. And then she cupped my nostrils
in the undersides of the toes of her now topmost, yellow cotton
ankle-socked foot.
But, this time, when C.S.O. Linda's foot
stink hit me, I did not urgently whip my face away, to my left, before I
would have to inhale it.
Instead, I did, inhale it. Inhaled,
C.S.O. Linda's foot odour. Inhaled, her horrible, nauseating,
in-between-the-toes, socked foot scent ... And C.S.O. Linda smirked, in
triumph. Smirked, triumphantly, at the gratifying sight of my having
been successfully brought to a state of pathetic, under-the-heel
submission ... All that remained, was for her to successfully "put a
civil tongue" in my head.
"Excellent thinking, C.S.O. Karen!"
praised the Liaison Officer, Harriet Harmman, effusively. "You are on
the fast-track to promotion, as is your colleague, C.S.O. Linda. I can
assure you of that. We need good C.S.O.'s, who can think on their feet
and think outside of the box. Oh, and I am hereby increasing the
first-offence sanction, that I set for community servant David
double-oh-seven, this morning doubling it, in fact. I shall now be
stopping his Unemployment Benefit payments, not for two weeks, but for
four weeks. Over."
C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda who were only
a year or two older than myself, and who had, only last week, been
receiving the same £80 per week Unemployment Benefit payments as myself
were a pair of bullies.
"That's very good of you to say, ma'am.
It's good to hear your approval. Because, C.S.O. Linda and I, we ...
well, we really and truly believe in our work, ma'am. We believe in the
ethics, and in the core values and principles, of the Authoritarian
Female Party. We believe, wholeheartedly, in the Party's female-friendly
agenda. We both agree with all of the A.F.P.'s aims and aspirations,
ma'am, and are proud to be members of such a finely motivated political
movement. Over."
C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda were a pair of
bullies, who had, to their delighted amazement, suddenly found
themselves earning £400 per week, in the cosseted employ of the
newly-elected A.F.P. government.
"We have a fine and fitting doctrine,
C.S.O. Karen, it's true. This is a new and exciting time, for us,
C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda. We are embarking, here, upon a whole new era.
Upon a new, exhilarating epoch, of female rule of dominion. Over."
C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda were a pair of
bullies sadistic bullies who found that they were perfectly suited
to their work, as Sock Room supervisors. It was the ultimate, with
"fringe benefits", well-paid cushy number.
"Ma'am, I think I can now confidently
report, that, as far as the matters of his respect and obedience, are
concerned, community servant David double-oh-seven will be giving C.S.O.
Linda and I no further problems.
"I think I can confidently report, ma'am,
that, thanks to your help and assistance, with regards to the ...
leverage, over his brother John, C.S.O. Linda and I, have successfully
... brought him to heel. He is now satisfactorily compliant, ma'am, and
submitting to our ... chosen method of chastisement. Over."
And, thanks to the powers vested in them,
by the governing Authoritarian Female Party, C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda
were at liberty and, actively encouraged, by their A.F.P. superiors
to tyrannise me, with total, unencumbered, and no-come-backs impunity.
"Oh, really? Well, I must say, that was
quick work, C.S.O. Karen! Um, just out of curiosity ... what is it,
exactly, that you and C.S.O. Linda are doing? What is your ... chosen
method of chastisement, for community servant David double-oh-seven?
Over."
With the ball of her topmost foot, C.S.O.
Linda now pushed my face to my left ... back towards C.S.O. Karen's
waiting, predatory foot.
"Ma'am ... if you can picture it ...
C.S.O. Linda and I are sitting in our computer chairs. And we have
ordered community servant David double-oh-seven to his knees, facing us.
We are using his shoulders as footrests it's actually quite
comfortable, ma'am, if you cross your ankles. I'm using his left
shoulder, and C.S.O. Linda is using his right shoulder. And, ma'am ...
C.S.O. Linda and I are taking it in turns, to make him smell our feet.
Well ... we are actually making him sniff our feet, ma'am, while we
drink the coffee that we've ordered him to make for us. And, from now
on, this will be our routine, ma'am, every day. Before we put him to
work, in the Sock Room. Over."
I remembered the chilling words of the
Liaison Officer, Harriet Harmman, when C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda had
brought me before her, earlier this morning. ("Community servant David
double-oh-seven, your actions are sanctionable. And I hereby fine you,
two weeks' Unemployment Benefit payments. This, is your chastisement ...
And, no doubt, over the ensuing days, weeks, and months, C.S.O.'s Karen
and Linda will also help you to see the errors of your ways."). For the
Liaison Officer's words had been duly vindicated had been a chilling
prophesy, that was now coming to pass.
And, as if all of that wasn't bad enough,
the Liaison Officer had just doubled my original, first-offence
"sanction". From two weeks', to four weeks' suspension of my
Unemployment Benefits payments ... Hell! How was I going to manage? How
was I going to make ends meet?
The sputtering, stuttering, incredulous
voice of the Liaison Officer, Harriet Harmman, responded, "You ... you
are doing ... what, did you say, C.S.O. Karen? How ... how incredibly
... how utterly ... how delightfully imaginative! Ha ha ha ha! Oh, I
shall certainly see that word of this, gets to Central Office in fact,
that it reaches Caroline Flynt, herself.
"Well, C.S.O. Karen, and C.S.O. Linda! I
am delighted, with your ... initiative. And, I'm extremely pleased to
know, that the management of the Sock Room is in such good and capable
hands! Carry on, then, administering community servant David
double-oh-seven's ... comeuppance. And, please keep me informed. If he
gets "all uppity" again, please be sure to let me know. John Smith's oil
rig is only a telephone call away. Over and out."
Once again, C.S.O. Karen leisurely
recrossed her ankles on 'her' shoulder. And, once again, she cupped my
nostrils in the undersides of the accommodating toes of her topmost,
yellow cotton ankle-socked foot.
And, once again, when C.S.O. Karen's foot
stink hit me, I did not urgently whip my face away, to my right, before
I would have to inhale it.
Instead ... I did, inhale it. Inhaled,
C.S.O. Karen's foot odour. Inhaled, her awful, revolting,
in-between-the-toes, socked foot scent ... And, C.S.O. Karen smiled.
Smiled, in the satisfaction of my having been successfully "brought to
heel". And ... that I was staying there.
And, as C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda
continued sitting comfortably, in their castor-wheeled computer chairs,
drinking their coffee, and leisurely recrossing their ankles on 'their'
shoulder, and taking it in turns, to make me sniff the ready-to-receive,
accommodating toes of their shoulder-perched, topmost yellow cotton
ankle-socked foot, I did not urgently whip my face away, from either of
my two sadistic supervisors' awful, terrible, nauseating,
in-between-the-toes, socked foot stinks.
And, I never would again.
Community Service continues, in Part 6.