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

  JAILHOUSE BLUES.     Part 3.     By david.

This time, when Prison Officer Bella Donna ordered me to assume the Regulation Position for ‘Foot Service’, with the traumatic memory of my recent, unspeakable ordeal upon that devilish device of discipline – the ‘Wheel of Chastisement’ – still horribly fresh and vivid in my mind, and with the still lingering, anguishing after-effects of Prison Officer Bella Donna’s cruel coup de grace, of her devastating double-flick-kick to my exposed and vulnerable balls, still pulsing and dully throbbing, in seemingly endless and barely diminishing nauseous waves, and, now willing to do anything – anything – to avoid a repetition of that horrific and mind-scarring  nightmare, I unhesitatingly and unquestioningly obeyed an order issued to me by a Prison Officer.

I compliantly inserted my legs all the way into 2 of the torpedo-tube-like holes at the bottom of the cell wall, and I firmly grabbed hold of the grey-painted bars in front of and to either side of my head, in my assuming of the Regulation Position, for Prisoner ‘Foot Service’.

Prison Officer Billie Jo glared at my cell-mate, Ross, questioningly, and she yelled at him, “Well, Prisoner Ross? What are you waiting for? You know exactly, where I want you! Or, do you want a few turns on ‘The Wheel’, as well as your cell-mate, to wake your ideas up, as well?”

“Yes, Miss Billie Jo, sorry, Miss Billie Jo”, replied Ross, in obsequious apology, for he fully knew, by now, that this was no idle threat from Prison Officer Billie Jo – Prison Officer Billie Jo didn’t do idle threats – as he jumped down from the top bunk like a scolded cat, and with great, fear-fuelled alacrity, thrust his legs with practised ease all the way into the other 2 cylinder-shaped holes at the bottom of our cell wall, right beside me, and, exactly as I had just done, Ross firmly grabbed hold of the grey-painted cell bars in front of and to either side of his head, and so that now both of us, had compliantly and obediently assumed the Regulation Position, for Prisoner ‘Foot Service’.

So, this is what it has all come down to, then, I miserably and despairingly thought to myself – the inevitable – for, my brave but misguided gestures of resistance and defiance, were never going to be anything other than useless and futile, and highly disadvantageous and damaging, in that I had so foolishly brought myself to the notice of, and had put myself (in the boldest of writing), into the bad books, of Prison Officer Bella Donna, who now had me exactly where she wanted me, too.

Now, Prison Officers Billie Jo and Bella Donna casually and complacently took up their own positions, on the other side of the grey-painted cell bars on the Landing, directly in front of Ross and I, and with their backs to us.

Now, Prison Officers Billie Jo and Bella Donna prepared to avail themselves, of something that they actually did in the line-of-duty, and got very well paid for, but, what was actually considered by the Prison Officers themselves, as a wonderfully enjoyable indulgence, and an extremely gratifying Greystone Prison Officer perk – their favourite, in fact, of all of their perks – Prisoner ‘Foot Service’.

Then, as I sat on the hard, miserable grey linoleum of the cell floor, with my legs fully and securely encased in the cylinder-shaped receptacles at the bottom of the cell wall, and that were specifically designed for this very purpose, and, with my face just mere inches away from the Uniform issue, pale-blue, thin rubber-soled flip flop feet of Prison Officer Bella Donna, and with my cell-mate, Ross, sitting right beside me, and similarly occupied at the flip flop feet of Prison Officer Billie Jo, we were like some kind of two-man foot-cleaning team, resignedly waiting, and reconciled to the immutable realities of our fate, and we readied – steeled – ourselves, to perform Prisoner ‘Foot Service’ for our jailers, Prison Officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo, who, (it seemed to me then, and the feeling would strengthen into a solid and unshakable belief, over the coming years and decades), were like the self-appointed nemeses, of Ross and I.

Then, Ross and I watched as, in unison, and as though in a graceful, well-practised, choreographed and synchronized movement – almost like a ballet step – Prison Officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo balanced perfectly on their left foot (though of course, they had the assurance of having the cell bars to hold onto if needed), and they both slipped their right foot from their Uniform issue, pale-blue, thin rubber-soled flip flop, and, they had no problem at all in finding, and then in firmly and unceremoniously planting the sole of their right foot, right into the middle of our waiting, resigned and reconciled faces, and in freely availing themselves, of Prisoner ‘Foot Service’.

Now, I was to be formally introduced to and initiated in, the atrocious reality, of one of the ‘facts of life’, and, to have it horribly and stunningly brought crashing home to me, just exactly what it meant, to live and serve, as a Prisoner in Greystone Prison.

Prison Officer Bella Donna firmly – possessively, almost – pressed the sole of her bare right foot right into the middle of my compliant and reconciled face, and, as I struggled to come to terms, with my first dreadful experience of having a Prison Officer so callously and cruelly thrust the sole of her bare foot into my face, and as I struggled to come to terms, with the awful sensation, of feeling her slightly clammy foot flesh settling and sinking into my face, as she rested more and more of her weight against it, and as I struggled to come to terms, with her offensively tangy, and sour vinegary-smelling foot odour, her cold and formal tones came down to me from above, coating me thickly, in yet another layer of incredibly cruel misery.

“Prisoner David, the very first action that you will undertake, upon commencement of ‘Foot Service’, is to kiss the sole of the foot of the Prison Officer who you are performing ‘Foot Service’ for. This is to show your respect and your reverence, towards the Prison Officer in question.

“Prisoner David, I give you full and fair warning now – and, I would strongly advise you, to adopt my warning as a golden rule, that applies to each and every Prison Officer in Greystone Prison – that, if I even suspect, now, or at any time in the future, that you are hesitant, or reluctant, or holding back, or are in any other way not whole-hearted, in your kiss of respect and reverence, or I sense that your kiss does not fully transmit to me, sincerely, the adequate and satisfactory level of respect and reverence that is demanded and expected of you, as a Greystone Prisoner, I shall have no hesitation or compunction,  in having you summarily escorted to the ‘Wheel of Chastisement’, to serve a Statutory 10 minute Sentence, which is the penalty for a second offence.

“Now, Prisoner David, bear carefully in mind – now, and on all future occasions, when you are called to ‘Foot Service’ by a Prison Officer – what I have just told you: Prisoner David, kiss my foot”.

Oh! Was there to be no limits, to the cruel and wicked practises of the Greystone Prison Officers? How could I do it? How could I do this abhorrent, repulsive, and humiliating act? How could I possibly satisfy the callous and cruel criteria of Prison Officer Bella Donna’s diabolical dictates, and yet retain even a tiny semblance of my self-respect?

It was impossible! Prison Officer Bella Donna would have me summarily escorted back to that devilish device of discipline – the ‘Wheel of Chastisement’ – for a further Statutory 10 minute Sentence, for certain!

But, then, I found a way, and I knew of a way – the only way.

It was a dreadful way, and a way, that would not just cause me great mental anguish, and break my heart. It was an abhorrent way, and a way, that would scar my mind forever, and crush my heart to a pulp. And, it was a soul-crushing way, and a way, that would cause me not only to sacrifice my last tiny semblance of self-respect, but to replace it, altogether, with a bitter, unspeakable and unforgivable self-loathing – but, it was the only way.  

Closing my eyes, I brought to my mind, the sacred image of the sweet and lovely face of my darling, Alison, just as she looked, on the evening of her 21^st birthday at the restaurant – drop-dead-gorgeous – and, focusing my mind’s eye upon my sweetheart’s pink and glossy lips, I imagined the exciting feeling of their amazing texture, and the wonderful sensation, of pressing my own loving and adoring lips to those of my love, Alison, as I kissed the slightly clammy,  offensively tangy, and sour vinegary-smelling foot of Prison Officer Bella Donna, so as to – in the words of that lady – “fully transmit to me, sincerely, the adequate and satisfactory level of respect and reverence that is demanded and expected of you, as a Greystone Prisoner”.

And, as I respectfully and reverently kissed the slightly clammy ball of Prison Officer Bella Donna’s right foot, and as I inhaled her offensively tangy,  and sour vinegary-smelling foot fumes, and, as I stared at her prominent, grimy heel right in front of my eyes, a veritable waterfall of bitter, regretful and remorseful tears cascaded down my cheeks in a deluge of self-pity, as, I fervently believed in my heart, that in summoning and using the sacred image of my darling Alison in this hideous, self-protecting way, must be the most heinous, of unspeakable and unforgivable betrayals of my darling.

After a few moments, and apparently satisfied, as to the sincerity of the demanded and expected respect and reverence of my kiss to the sole of her foot, Prison Officer Bella Donna, so casually, and so complacently, and so naturally, began to avail herself of my ‘Foot Service’ – for, Prison Officer Bella Donna’s forcing of me to a total and abject submission, and of so conclusively bringing me ‘to heel’, was really no big deal, to her: I was not the first Prisoner, and I would most certainly not be the last, to succumb to the anguishing and humiliating and mind-scarring nightmare, of that devilish device of discipline, the ‘Wheel of Chastisement’.

Now, as the pink and tender toe pads of Prison Officer Bella Donna’s right foot played over my lips, rubbing them, caressing them, gently, repeatedly, monotonously, and maddeningly, and, in what I would soon come to know, as her unvarying habit, that was her routine ritual, and that was her pre-foot-cleaning prelude, the intimate details of the sole of her right foot filled my whole vision, and, the extreme close-up image of Prison Officer Bella Donna’s bare, long-toed, slender, high-arched, and prominent, grimy-heeled right foot, was stencilled, indelibly and permanently, into the forefront of my mind.

And, as the pink and tender toe pads of Prison Officer Bella Donna’s right foot continued to play over my lips, rubbing them, caressing them, gently, repeatedly, monotonously, and maddeningly, I knew, that this was the foot – her right, grimy-heeled foot – that had expertly and mercilessly double-flick-kicked me, with a devastating and catastrophic effect, right between my firmly secured and set-apart legs – “right in the goolies! Hahahaha!” – the tops of her toes, distinctly felt, and making a gut-clenching, retch-inducing, solid and crippling connection with my exposed and vulnerable balls, as I had served my 5 minutes Sentence, and as I did “a few turns”, upon the ‘Wheel of Chastisement’.

And, I knew, that this was the foot – her right, grimy-heeled foot – that had sadistically and maliciously double-flick-kicked me in the groin, the tops of her toes, distinctly felt, that had smashed me into my total and abject submission, and that had melted down and re-forged my mind-set, as though by some sort of psychological fusion, that had re-arranged my cerebral atoms into their new structural brain pattern – into a brand-new mind-set, and into a brand-new mould and mentality, that, was not only the Standard Requirement of the Prison Authorities, but was also that, of Prison Officer Bella Donna’s own, personal desire, and of her own, personal Standard Requirement – that, of the unthinking, unhesitating and unquestioning obedience and compliance of Prisoners.

And, I knew, that this was the foot – her right, grimy-heeled foot – that had cruelly and callously double-flick-kicked my exposed and defenceless testicles, the tops of her toes, distinctly felt, and making such an awful, agonizing and crushing connection, that had, effectively, cruelly double-flick-kicked away my last shreds of defiance, incompliance, and disobedience, and, that had double-flick-kicked out of me – once and for all – any last and lingering traces of my resistance to Prison Officer Bella Donna’s authority: her absolute, and unquestioned authority.

And, I knew, as the pink and tender toe pads of Prison Officer Bella Donna’s offensively tangy, sour vinegary-smelling, long-toed, slender, high-arched, and prominent, grimy-heeled right foot continued to play over my lips, rubbing them, caressing them, gently, repeatedly, monotonously, and maddeningly, I knew, that this was the foot – her right, grimy-heeled foot – that had, in just one devastating double-flick-kick to my exposed and vulnerable balls, the tops of her toes, distinctly felt, in a withering and crushing connection, changed my psyche, and had taken away from me, some vital part of my essence, and had stolen my spirit – and, that had violently vanquished me, and brutally broken me, and cruelly conquered me.

And, I knew, that this was the foot – her right, grimy-heeled foot – that I had surrendered my will to, and to which I had so comprehensively capitulated.

For, it was not only my very fresh and vivid and traumatic memory, of my agonizing and anguishing and humiliating ordeal upon that devilish device of discipline, the ‘Wheel of Chastisement’, but, it was also the certain and dreadful knowledge that I could expect more of the same unspeakable treatment, were I ever to fail, in future, to unhesitatingly and unquestioningly obey an order issued to me by a Prison Officer, that guaranteed that my future conduct would be exactly as the Prison Authorities demanded and expected it to be: that, of a ‘Model Prisoner’ – unthinkingly and unquestioningly obedient; unhesitatingly and unreservedly compliant; totally submissive to the authority of Prison Officers; and, to at all times display an unresisting and accepting attitude, towards the reality of my immutable situation as a Prisoner, and to the unchallengeable subjugation of myself and all other Prisoners, by the Prison Officers.

Then, I was brought out of my rueful reverie, and of my last and cherished memory of my darling Alison, when there was another synchronized movement from Prison Officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo, as they both slightly shifted the position of their right foot, to better avail themselves of a more relaxed and conducive position upon the compliantly proffered faces of Ross and I, with the ball of their right foot resting on top of our convenient noses, and with their grimy heel planted firmly against our foreheads, which allowed them both to lean back and relax more comfortably, and thereby enabling them to let go of the cell bars, and to use their freed-up hands to light up their cigarettes – which was, of course, strictly against the Prison Rules – but, who was going to complain? Not the Prison Officers, most of whom smoked, it seemed, and certainly not the Prisoners – unless, that is, they wanted “a few turns”, upon the ‘Wheel of Chastisement’.

This was another, of the carefully calculated cruelties that were maliciously and malevolently perpetrated against the Greystone Prisoners – to prohibit them from smoking, and to force them to go ‘cold turkey’, while the Prison Officers themselves smoked in front of them, tauntingly and mockingly, and with absolute impunity, whenever they liked.

Fortunately for Ross and I, neither of us smoked, but it was obvious to us that it was very tough on the Prisoners who had ‘the habit’.

In her quiet contentment, Prison Officer Bella Donna absent-mindedly, repeatedly, monotonously, and maddeningly, cupped and un-cupped her long toes around my nostrils, and, I was obliged to inhale the rancid, sour-vinegar-like fumes, that were more intensely concentrated under and in between her toes – I did not need telling, to close my mouth.

And, I did not need telling, either, to follow the sole-licking, toe-sucking, and heel-sucking example of my cell-mate, who was right beside me, at the broad and fleshy, chubby-toed and thick-heeled feet of Prison Officer Billie Jo – when, after the first few intensely satisfying inhalations of cigarette smoke into their lungs, it was Prison Officer Billie Jo, who looked over her shoulder and down on Ross and I, contemptuously, and who ordered, maliciously, “Ok, you two! Start licking our feet! And, we want to feel your tongues hard at work between our toes, and doing their duty, or else!”  

Neither Ross or I had hesitated, in obeying Prison Officer Billie Jo’s appalling and atrocious order, and we both began to lick the sole of the right foot of the Prison Officer that was so wickedly thrust into our compliant and reconciled faces – Ross, giving long and vigorous upward licks, from the pads of Prison Officer Billie Jo’s chubby toes, and up the wide expanse of her broad sole, to the rough outer edges of her thick and grimy heel – while I studiously followed the example that Ross had set, upon the offensively tangy, sour-vinegar-smelling, long-toed, slender, high-arched, and prominent, grimy-heeled right foot, of Prison Officer Bella Donna, and, it was only by the most Herculean of efforts, that I stuck grimly to my ghastly and repulsive task, as my tongue seemed horribly alive with acidic and corrosive bubbles, and, it was the most distressing and anguishing, and abhorrent and humiliating of unspeakable experiences, that I would not have wished on my worst enemy.

Then, and after a few contented moments, in which Prison Officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo enjoyed the combined and simultaneous pleasures of their cigarettes and their indulgence in Prisoner ‘Foot Service’, it was Prison Officer Billie Jo, who finally broke their companionable silence, when she asked her friend and colleague, conversationally, “So, Bel, what are you doing this weekend? Will you be seeing Peter again?” “Nah!” replied Prison Officer Bella Donna, derisively. “That limp dick? You’ve got to be kidding, BJ! You have never seen such a wimp!” she added, disgustedly.

In reply, and sighing, heavily and despondently, Prison Officer Billie Jo inquired further, in frustrated and plaintive tones, “Oh! Where are all the ‘real’ men, these days, Bel?”

As if on cue, and as if it was another of their uncannily synchronized movements, Prison Officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo looked over their shoulders and down on Ross and I, as we were both still busily and obediently vigorously licking the soles of their grimy-heeled feet, and, it was Prison Officer Bella Donna who observed, sardonically and witheringly, “Well, Billie Jo, they are not in here, and that’s for sure! Hahahaha!” 

Upon hearing the amused and disdainful laughter of Prison Officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo, Prison Officers Cassandra and Carly, who had been smoking their own cigarettes as they had availed themselves of the ‘Foot Service’ of our ‘neighbours’, Prisoners Michael and Alex, in Cell 3 C, now approached our cell with curious and inquiring smiles on their faces.

Prison Officer Cassandra asked, “Bel? BJ? What’s so funny? Come on! Let us in on the joke, then!”

Prison Officer Bella Donna replied, “Oh, it’s nothing, Cass. It’s just this pathetic pair, in here. We can’t help but laugh at them. They are just so totally pathetic, Cassie”.

“Just like Prisoners Michael and Alex in Cell 3 C, then”, chimed in Prison Officer Carly, Prison Officer Cassandra’s younger, and recently-recruited partner, as she now casually and arrogantly stood with her weight on her left foot, and with her right foot resting on the back of her left ankle, and setting off her right flip flop slap-slap-slap-slapping away against her heel, highly irritatingly and annoyingly, and maddeningly, and she laughed, delightedly, as she watched with great interest, the ‘Foot Service’ proceedings that were taking place in Cell 3 B, “Hahaha! Prisoner David is not so cocky now, is he? You are definitely putting the little swine in his place, Bella!”

Then, Prison Officer Carly stepped up to the bars of our cell and looked down on Ross and I, and, in playful, sing-song tones that conveyed the happy  confirmation of her initial statement, she said, “Yes, they are, just like Prisoners Michael and Alex, in Cell 3 C!.

“Just look at Prisoner David’s bulge, down there! Are you wearing panties today, Bella?”

“No, Carly, it’s not my time of the month”, replied Prison Officer Bella Donna.

“Neither am I. I’m due at the same time as Bel”, Prison Officer Billie Jo piped up, informatively. 

Prison Officer Carly went on, “I can’t believe how stupid Prisoner David is! He has really got no idea, has he, the hopeless fool, of just what he has let himself in for, in failing to unhesitatingly and unquestioningly obey an order issued to him by a Prison Officer”.

To which observation, Prison Officer Bella Donna replied, matter-of-factly, “Well, he has got his cell-mate to thank for that – for not telling him about the ‘facts of life’, as they pertain to him now, as he lives and serves here, at Greystone Prison – and, as I had explicitly ordered him to”.

Still studying my groin area, Prison Officer Carly continued, conversationally, “Prisoner David has got a raging hard-on down there, Bella. He’s looking right up your skirt, and he can’t drag his eyes away from your pussy. It’s like he hates you – I mean, he must really hate you, mustn’t he, the way you kicked him in the plums – but, it’s like he wants you, even more than he hates you, Bella. Just take a look down there – the proof is undeniable”, asserted Prison Officer Carly, in tones of mild wonderment.

Prison Officer Bella Donna helpfully informed the younger and recently-recruited Prison Officer Carly, “He can’t help himself, Carly. None of the Prisoners can – unless they are gay, of course, and any Prisoner who is found to be gay is immediately transferred to another Prison – the Greystone Prison psychologists know their business, all right, and we see their genius at work here, every single day”.

Prison Officer Billie Jo, looking over her shoulder and down on Ross’s groin area, said, in tones of deep admiration, at the “undeniable” effects that she was inflicting upon Ross, “Yeah, you’ve really got to hand it to those guys! I mean, just look at Prisoner Ross down there. I’ve got him licking and sniffing my dirty stinky feet, but I can see that his puny little dick is still twitching away, just because I am letting him look right up my skirt, and letting him see my pussy. And, the beauty of it is, that the poor little fool just can’t look away! Isn’t that right, Prisoner Ross, you just can’t drag your eyes away, can you, from the sight of my sweet and juicy pussy, hahahaha! What would really, really put the icing on the cake, for me, is if their loser girlfriends could be here to see this, and to see just exactly what happens to their useless pathetic boyfriends, here. Just imagine that! Oh, God! I just love working at Greystone Prison!”

When Prison Officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo had finished their cigarettes, it was Prison Officer Billie Jo, who snapped harshly at Ross and I. “Ok, you two lazy, useless good-for-nothings! Get yourselves out of your miserable holes! Come on, it’s time to get some work out of you!”

Prison Officer Cassandra, taking her cue, said to her younger, and recently-recruited partner, “Come on Carly. Let’s get Prisoners Michael and Alex off their lazy good-for-nothing behinds, and put them to work, too”.  “Oh, great!” replied Prison Officer Carly, as she all-but hopped-skipped-and-jumped the few steps to Cell 3 C.

When we were all out on the Landing, Prison Officer Cassandra informed Prisoners Michael and Alex, “Right, you two. I’m putting you to work in the Laundry today. Come on, let’s go”. “Yes, Miss Cassandra”, mumbled Prisoners Michael and Alex, unhappily – as I would be finding out for myself, soon enough, the Laundry was a miserable place to work in. The Laundry was hot and steamy, you spent the whole time drenched in sweat, and the work was repetitive and mind-numbingly boring.

All the main hotels in the area sent their bed-sheets to be laundered at the Greystone Prison Laundry, and, the robot-like job of feeding the endless supply of bed-sheets into the huge, industrial-sized washing machines, and then feeding the washed and spin-dried bed-sheets into the presses, and then folding them carefully and precisely, was enough to drive you nuts.  

Prison Officer Billie Jo, addressing Ross and I, said, “Prisoner David, today you will work in the Staff Cafeteria. Prisoner Ross, today you will work in the Kitchen. Now, come on, let’s------“ I was quite surprised and alarmed, when Ross cut Prison Officer Billie Jo off in mid-sentence, and exclaiming, rather petulantly, “Please, Miss Billie Jo, not the Kitchen again! I was on the sprouts yesterday, and I spent 6 hours peeling the ruddy things! Can’t I work in the Staff Cafeteria with Dave……I mean, with Prisoner David? Miss Billie Jo? Miss Bella?”

I saw Prison Officer Billie Jo’s cheeks actually glow red, as she turned her great and vitriolic wrath upon Ross, and as she raged at him, “Prisoner Ross! Just where, exactly, do you think you are? Butlin’s Holiday Camp? Do you think you get to pick and choose where you can work, as if you are deciding which fun-rides you want to have a go on? Well, you are not! In case you haven’t noticed yet, you are in Greystone Prison! You will do exactly as you are told, Prisoner Ross, unhesitatingly and unquestioningly, and I will tolerate no backchat from you!”

Prison Officer Carly piped up, excitedly and hopefully, “Billie Jo, can I kick Prisoner Ross in the plums?”

Before Prison Officer Billie Jo could reply – no doubt, in the affirmative – Prison Officer Bella Donna pre-empted her, saying, “No, I’m sorry, Carly, but that particular correctional action is only administered to Prisoners who are undergoing disciplinary procedures on the ‘Wheel of Chastisement’, and is permitted at no other time”.   

Prison Officer Billie Jo, becoming even angrier, shouted, “Well, if Prisoner Ross thinks he is going to get off scot-free, for his insolence, he has got another think coming, I can tell you! Prisoner Ross! Spread your arms and legs apart, and hold onto those cell bars, while I administer the ‘Statutory Six’!”

Ross knew better than to argue, or answer back, or even plead for leniency, and, he began to whimper, as 4 pairs of Prison Officer’s hands roughly undid the buttons of his one-piece, boiler-suit-like Prison Uniform, and then pulled it down his body, until it lay in an untidy and unseemly grey heap of rough cloth draped around his ankles, and the cheeks of his bare bottom were fully exposed, preparatory to receiving the ‘Statutory Six’. 

Then, the no-nonsense and all-business Prison Officer Billie Jo, got down to business, and, 6 times, I jumped involuntarily, as 6 times, Prison Officer Billie Jo swung her cane at Ross’s bare buttocks with all of her considerable might, and as 6 times, Ross yelped out his anguish and his humiliation, and, as 6 times, and in accordance with the Prison Rules, Ross said, “Thank you, Officer Billie Jo”.

Then, the 6 vivid, red and angry-looking stripes that glowed brightly from Ross’s freshly tanned buttocks disappeared from view, as the 4 Prison Officers roughly pulled up his ash-grey, one-piece, boiler-suit-like Prison Uniform, and, the younger and recently-recruited Prison Officer Carly couldn’t help gushing, and exclaiming, rather girlishly, at the pleasing sight of Prison Officer Billie Jo’s summary handiwork, and at the decidedly efficacious effect that her instant justice was obviously having upon my unfortunate cell-mate, as he continued to whimper pitifully, and as he wiped his tears of pain and humiliation away with the back of one hand, and rubbed his very sore bottom with the other, “There, Prisoner Ross! Let that be a lesson to you!” 

Suddenly, all 4 of the Prison Officer’s radios crackled to life, in what was apparently a General Broadcast from Control, and they all plugged in their earphones to listen to it together, and, as they did so, they smiled at what they heard, and exchanged significant-looking glances with each other – and also at Ross and I.

Now, the 4 Prison Officers huddled together in a quiet and conspiratorial-like conference, and, I was anxiously wondering what they were planning, when Prison Officer Bella Donna said, somewhat mysteriously, to Ross, “Prisoner Ross, we have decided to grant your wish, and allow you to work in the Staff Cafeteria with Prisoner David. Now, Prisoner Ross, get moving, and I don’t want to hear so much as another peep out of you, or else!”

With that, we descended the grey-painted metal spiral stairways down to the Ground Floor, where Prison Officers Cassandra and Carly escorted Prisoners Michael and Alex to the Laundry, where they would perform the sweat-soaking, dreary duties there for the next 6 hours – unless called to other duties – while   Prison Officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo escorted Ross and I to work in the Staff Cafeteria.

The Staff Cafeteria was pretty much as I imagined such an Institutional Dining Room would be. It was a large and functional, rectangular-shaped room, with a 48 seat capacity comprising of 12 rectangular-shaped tables, in 6 rows of 2, and with a comfortably padded, red leather bench-seat on either side of the tables.

Just to the left of entrance door, I couldn’t help but notice, that there were some obviously newly-constructed concrete steps, leading down into a dimly lit, dungeon-like concrete walled corridor.

When I whisperingly inquired of Ross (so as not to be overheard and summarily reprimanded by Prison Officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo), as to the purpose of these rather curious and obviously newly-constructed concrete steps, Ross’s face was quite blank, as he told me that he had no idea, and that they were not here when he last worked in the Staff Cafeteria, over a week ago.

Now, Prison Officers Bella Donna and Billie Jo turned to Ross and I, and, I thought that there was a sort of secretive and knowing smirk playing at the corners of their lips, and there seemed to be an element of suppressed, malicious mirth in the tone of Prison Officer Billie Jo’s voice, and which she tried to disguise, by shouting at Ross and I even more loudly and harshly than usual. “Ok, you two miserable, useless so-and-so’s, make yourselves useful. Find a couple of brushes, and take them for a good walk around the Dining Room. When you have done that, you can start clearing the things from the Dining Tables that have been vacated, and give them a good wipe down – and, I mean, a ‘good’ wipe down!  When you have done that, wash up all of the dishes and trays that you have collected, in the sink behind the serving counter. Now, Prisoners David and Ross, have you got all of that?” At our silent nods of affirmation, Prison Officer Billie Jo snapped, severely, “Well, what are you waiting for, then? I have given you your orders! Now get cracking, the pair of you!” 

“Ross, they are up to something. I know they are”, I said to my cell-mate, anxiously, and, as Ross went to find us 2 brushes, I watched Prison Officer Billie Jo and Bella Donna’s retreating backs, and I watched the flashing soles of their flip flop feet, and I listened to the highly irritating and annoying, and maddening, slap-slap-slap-slapping sound of their flip flops slapping against their heels, and I watched them, as they surreptitiously glanced back over their shoulders at me, chuckling together, as though in the amusement of some wicked design, and with their heads together in a conspiratorial, maliciously secretive and knowing manner, and I watched them, as they seated themselves at the vacant Dining Table nearest to the serving counter.

And, as Prison Officers Billie Jo and Bella Donna occupied the nearest comfortably padded, red leather bench-seat, and seated themselves with their backs to us, I found myself wondering what their mysterious radio message could have been, and, my unsettling conviction grew, that there was definitely something afoot. 

Then, Prison Officers Cassandra and Carly, joined Prison Officers Billie Jo and Bella Donna at their Dining Table, and occupied the opposite comfortably padded, red leather bench-seat.

As soon as the 4 Prison Officers began chatting to each other, Prison Officers Billie Jo and Bella Donna glanced sneakily back at Ross and I, but they weren’t quick enough in looking away, to prevent us from seeing the wicked and secretive and knowing smirks that distorted their lips.

Yes, they are definitely up to something, I thought to myself, but what?

Then, I momentarily found myself incapable of movement, as if in the grip of an oppressive and debilitating wave of apathy, as the by now fully dawning – or, at least, I thought so then – dismay and despair of my unthinkable predicament came crashing home to me anew, as I thought of what my bleak future held in store for me here, in the unrelieved grey and grim environment, of Greystone Prison.

And, as I stood immobile, I sourly and resentfully stared at the pale-blue shirted backs, of 2 of the chief administrators of my wretchedness, Prison Officers Billie Jo and Bella Donna, and, if their laughter was anything to go by, they were having a highly amusing discussion with their colleagues, Prison Officers Cassandra and Carly.

And, as I continued to stare, vacantly and apathetically, at the pale-blue shirted backs of that hateful pair, a movement under their bench-seat caught my eye as, in perfect unison, and in yet another seemingly synchronized movement, Prison Officers Billie Jo and Bella Donna crossed their ankles – right foot over left foot – and immediately, there came the highly irritating and annoying, and maddening, slap-slap-slap-slapping sound, as they caused their Uniform issue, pale-blue, thin rubber-soled flip flops to repeatedly slap against their heels, and, I don’t know if it was my fevered imagination, but, it sounded to me, as though the whole of the Staff Cafeteria was absolutely alive, with the sanity-threatening slap-slap-slap-slapping sound of the Prison Officers’ flip flops, as they caused them to seemingly constantly and endlessly slap against their heels, and, it was all that I could do, to resist the almost overwhelming urge to cover my ears with my hands, and to cry out against that seemingly constant and maddening noise.  

Then, and as I continued to stare, in perfect unison, and slowly, ever so slowly, Prison Officers Billie Jo and Bella Donna’s right, pale-blue, thin rubber-soled flip flops gradually slipped from their increasingly precarious perches, until they were dangling tenuously from the tips of their toes, and, I continued to watch this seemingly uncanny coordination, until their right flip flops fell to the floor, at exactly the same moment. 

Then, as I continued to stare, Prison Officers Billie Jo and Bella Donna’s seemingly uncanny, ‘synchronized event’ continued, as they simultaneously began to curl and uncurl their toes, repeatedly, and rhythmically – both, with a tight scrunch that caused their soles to wrinkle, before uncurling their toes, and then repeating the seemingly unvarying procedure, over and over, and in a seemingly faultless and perfect unison.

And, as I continued to stare, as though mesmerised by such seemingly unconscious and perfectly synchronized precision, at Prison Officers Billie Jo and Bella Donna’s absent-minded, repeatedly curling, tightly scrunching, and uncurling toes, I couldn’t help but notice, that their heels were still rather grubby looking around their outer edges, and, pointing out our apparent glaring deficiency in the foot-cleaning department, I observed, with mock admonishment to Ross, as I took 1 of the brushes from him, “Tut tut, mate, looks like we missed a bit”.

As Ross and I swept the floor of the Staff Cafeteria, I couldn’t help but to look at, and to watch, the noisy, sole-flashing progress of the highly irritating and annoying, and maddening, slap-slap-slap-slapping flip flop feet of each and every Prison Officer who entered, and who, after sitting down upon one of the comfortably padded, red leather bench-seats, would cross, and re-cross her ankles, and, immediately upon doing so, begin to slap-slap-slap-slap her Uniform issue, pale-blue, thin rubber-soled flip flops against her heels, repeatedly, and seemingly endlessly, in the sanity-threatening tattoo that would echo in my dreams.

And, as I stared at the flip flop feet of each and every Prison Officer who entered the Staff Cafeteria, and, as I received their unvarying looks of contempt and withering disdain, in response to my respectful and reverent “Good afternoon, Officer”, I wondered how long it would be, before I found their dirty stinky bare feet callously and cruelly thrust into my compliant and reconciled face, when eventually, but inevitably, they called me to ‘Foot Service’. 

Then, as Ross and I were finishing clearing the resultant debris from the vacated Dining Tables, and, just as I had managed to deceive myself into the fanciful notion that working in the Staff Cafeteria wasn’t so bad, after all – and that it was actually quite cushy, in fact, and was probably the easiest work in the Prison – the mind-shattering moment arrived, when the awful truth about the Staff Cafeteria was suddenly and shockingly revealed to us.

The Prison Governor, Sylvia Smackham, who was suddenly standing – seemingly larger than life – at the top of the obviously newly-constructed concrete steps near the entrance to the Staff Cafeteria, that led down into a dimly lit, and dungeon-like concrete walled corridor, loudly and proudly announced, “Officers of Greystone Prison! It is now, not only my duty, as Prison Governor, but also my very great and personal pleasure, to announce that the recent modifications to the Staff Cafeteria have now been duly completed. And, I formally and officially declare, that the Staff Cafeteria is now, at last, fit for purpose, and is now fully operational and open, for Prisoner ‘Foot Service’.

“Prisoners David and Ross, come forward! You shall have the highly distinguished honour, of being the very first Greystone Prisoners to be called upon to present themselves, for Staff Cafeteria ‘Foot Service’. Come Forward!”

Pointing to the obviously newly-constructed concrete steps, that led down into a dimly lit, and dungeon-like concrete walled corridor, the Governor now ordered, authoritatively, though somewhat cryptically, it seemed to Ross and I, “Prisoners Ross and David, you will proceed immediately, and follow the signs to Table 1, and to ‘Foot Service’ hatches ‘A’ and ‘B’, respectively”.

So this, then, was what the Prison Officers’ radio call was about. This, then, was their mysterious and amusing, delicious little secret. And this, then, was the reason that Ross had been granted his “wish” to work with me in the Staff Cafeteria, instead of in the Laundry.  

Wordlessly, Ross and I obeyed the Governor’s order, and we descended, unescorted, the dozen or so concrete steps that led down into the dimly lit, and dungeon-like corridor.

The corridor was lit well enough, though, to be able to see the signs on the walls that were clearly displayed at each of the 6 junctions that intersected the main central corridor, that Ross and I now suddenly and incredulously found our selves in.

At the first of these 6 junctions (each of which, a sign indicated access to 2 Tables – one on either side of the main central corridor), the sign on the wall to our left, indicated ‘Table 2’. The sign on the wall to our right, indicated ‘Table 1’. Ross and I turned right, and we found our selves in a very short corridor of about 5 yards long, and with 2 sets of concrete steps, placed at the left and right side of the corridor, and both of which branched off to left and right about half way up.

We saw that the sign at the steps to the left, indicated Table 1. Hatches ‘C’ and ‘D’. The sign at the steps to the right, indicated Table 1. Hatches ‘A’ and ‘B’, and, as per the Governor’s instructions, these were the steps that Ross and I began to climb.

About half way up, the steps branched off to left and right. To the left, a sign indicated Table 1. Hatch ‘A’, and Ross ascended these last few steps. To the right, the sign indicated Table 1. Hatch ‘B’, and I also ascended the last few steps, and at the top of which, was a small hatch – rather like a man-hole cover, though only just wide enough to fit my head through.

I opened the hatch, which was made of a light metal plate, and hinged, allowing it to be folded flat on the floor above, and I climbed up more steps, until my head was protruding through the rather small, man-hole-like opening – into the Staff Cafeteria, at floor level.

And, the very first and very absurd thought that came to mind, was that, now, I would get to finish the job, that, by my own earlier declaration, I had been glaringly deficient in – the foot-cleaning department. For, there, right in front of my eyes, were the unmistakable flip flop feet – their image was stencilled, indelibly and permanently, at the forefront of my mind – of Prison Officer Bella Donna, her right ankle crossed over her left ankle, and her right flip flop, highly irritatingly and annoyingly, and maddeningly, repeatedly slap-slap-slap-slapping against her heel, right in front of my face.

Looking about 3 feet away, to my left, I saw that Ross was similarly situated, as his head had also emerged through the small, man-hole-like opening, directly behind the broad and fleshy, chubby-toed and thick-heeled feet, of Prison Officer Billie Jo. And, I have no words to describe the incredulous looks of wonderment with which Ross regarded me, as our heads protruded, ridiculously and farcically, from ‘Foot Service’ hatches ‘A’ and ‘B’ – Table 1, and under the comfortably padded, red leather bench-seat upon which Prison Officers Billie Jo and Bella Donna were seated, in the Staff Cafeteria. 

I don’t know what sort of reception that I was expecting Ross and I to be received with, as our heads ridiculously and farcically protruded through the Staff Cafeteria floor via ‘Foot Service’ hatches ‘A’ and ‘B’ – Table 1: a resounding round of applause from the Governor and the Prison Officers, at seeing the first ever Prisoners to present themselves for Staff Cafeteria ‘Foot Service’?; Or exclamations of delight, perhaps?; Or, just a few quiet and reserved expressions of satisfaction and approval?  Or, maybe just a few disgruntled comments from the hard-to-please Prison Officers, that it ‘was about time, too’.

But, none of these expressions of acknowledgement of our decidedly ridiculous and farcical appearance, were given voice to by the Prison Officers, who now pointedly and studiously ignored Ross and I, as if we did not even exist.

But, of course, this was just another example, of the Prison psychologist’s “genius at work, every single day”.

For, now, Prison Officer Bella Donna suddenly ceased her highly irritating and annoying, and maddening, slap-slap-slap-slapping of her right, Uniform issue, pale-blue, thin rubber-soled flip flop against her right heel, and slowly, ever so slowly, her right flip flop gradually slipped from it’s increasingly precarious perch, until it dangled tenuously from the tips of her toes, before finally falling to the floor.

Then, Prison Officer Bella Donna reached back the sole of her right foot, slightly, to where my face was so conveniently positioned, for the purpose of performing Staff Cafeteria ‘Foot Service’.

For the second time that day – my very first day in custody at Greystone Prison – I was being called upon to perform ‘Foot Service’, for Prison Officer Bella Donna.

And, when Prison Officer Bella Donna cruelly and callously planted her right, offensively tangy, sour vinegar-smelling, long-toed, slender, high-arched   and prominent heeled foot, firmly into the middle of my compliant and reconciled face, I knew exactly, just what was expected of me, and I did what I knew I must do – now, and always.

I once again summoned the image of the sweet and lovely face of the girl I loved and adored, my beautiful Alison, just as she looked, on the evening at the restaurant on her 21^st birthday – drop-dead-gorgeous.

Now, I once again shed a copious, veritable cascade of intensely sad and bitter, and regretful and remorseful tears, in the heartfelt belief, that summoning my sweetheart’s sacred image for this hideous purpose – of self-protection – must be the most heinous, of unspeakable and unforgivable betrayals of my darling.

And, as I focused my minds eye, upon the image of my sweetheart’s pink and glossy lips, and as I imagined the exciting feeling of their amazing texture, and of the wonderful feeling, of pressing my own loving and adoring lips to those of my love, I kissed the ball of the slightly clammy, offensively tangy, and sour vinegary-smelling right foot of Prison Officer Bella Donna, so as to – in the words of that lady – “fully transmit to me, sincerely, the adequate and satisfactory level of respect and reverence that is demanded and expected of you, as a Greystone Prisoner”.  

Then, and apparently satisfied, as to the sincerity of the respect and the reverence of my kiss, Prison Officer Bella Donna pressed the pink and tender toe pads of her right foot to my lips, rubbing them, caressing them, gently, repeatedly, monotonously, and maddeningly, in what I would soon come to know, was her unvarying habit, her routine ritual, and her pre-foot-cleaning prelude.

And, as Prison Officer Bella Donna’s pink and tender toe pads rubbed my lips, caressingly, gently, repeatedly, monotonously, and maddeningly, I knew, that this was the foot – her right, grimy-heeled foot – that had cruelly and mercilessly double-flick-kicked my exposed and vulnerable balls – “right in the goolies! Hahahaha!” – her toes, distinctly felt, in a devastating and crushing connection, that had ended my futile resistance and defiance of her unquestioned authority, and that had so conclusively brought me ‘to heel’, and, guaranteeing that I would, in future, unhesitatingly and unquestioningly obey an order issued to me by a Prison Officer.

Now, Ross and I were subjected to yet another heinous example, of the Prison psychologist’s “genius at work, every single day”.

For, whereas the Prison Officers – when  in a standing position, were restricted to tormenting Prisoners performing ‘Foot Service’ at the bars of their cells, with one foot at a time, and switching from foot to foot – seated  comfortably, upon the comfortably padded, red leather bench-seats of the Staff Cafeteria, the Prison Officers had no such inconvenient impediments, as they were now able to simultaneously bring both feet into operation, and directly into the compliant and reconciled faces of the Prisoners at their feet, as their heads protruded, ridiculously and farcically,  from the ‘Foot Service’ hatches that were set into the floor, under the comfortably padded, red leather bench-seats of the Staff Cafeteria.

In the moments before Prison Officer Bella Donna began to make full and foul use, of the great and obvious advantages of these newly-found foot freedoms, I saw that many more of the ‘Foot Service’ hatches were opening, and, I saw the incredulous expressions on the Prisoner’s faces, as their heads ridiculously and farcically protruded through them – not least, of which, were the shocked and disbelieving faces of Prisoners Michael and Alex, who found themselves positioned directly behind the flip flop feet, of Prison Officers Cassandra and Carly, respectively.

Then, I could see no more of what was going on around me, as the busy feet of Prison Officer Bella Donna filled up my whole field of vision.

I could scarcely believe what was happening to me, and I trembled with horror and revulsion, and with a sense of hopeless and helpless outrage, as Prison Officer Bella Donna unceremoniously inserted all 5 toes of her right foot into my mouth, and then, she rested her left ankle on top of her right ankle, and immediately proceeded to cause her left flip flop to slap-slap-slap-slap against her heel, highly irritatingly and annoyingly, and maddeningly,  as she repeatedly and monotonously slap-slap-slap-slapped away, right in front of my eyes, and close enough to feel the draught from each and every slap.

Gradually, Prison Officer Bella Donna’s left flip flop slipped from it’s increasingly precarious perch, until it dangled tenuously from the tips of her toes, before falling to the floor.

But, any relief I felt, from the cessation of Prison Officer Bella Donna’s left flip flop slap-slap-slap-slapping against her heel, repeatedly monotonously,  and maddeningly, and of feeling the draught from her each and every slap, did not last long.

For, Prison Officer Bella Donna proceeded to commit a further and even more appalling abuse against me, when she then cupped the toes of her left foot, over my captive and helpless nostrils.

Now, I was obliged to inhale the rather more concentrated, offensively tangy, sour vinegary-smelling foot-stink from under and in-between the toes of her left foot, while simultaneously having to endure the exquisitely infuriating and humiliating sensations, of feeling the toes of Prison Officer Bella Donna’s right foot, variously and ceaselessly playing and probing, and cavorting and capering about inside my mouth, and clutching and gripping my tongue, which greatly multiplied the horrid taste of her toes, and that caused a polluted, rancid saliva of acrid and corrosive bubbles to fill my mouth, that frothed up and seeped from my lips in a disgusting and humiliating overflow.

Although it would be fair to assume, that time would not be likely to pass quickly, under such trying conditions, nonetheless, enough time had surely elapsed, to realize that this was no ordinary Prison Officer Tea-Break, or even Meal-Break duration – no, and it gradually dawned on me, that most of the Prison Officers who were availing themselves of Prisoner ‘Foot Service’ in the Staff Cafeteria, were actually ‘on duty’ – which was what the Governor had meant, when she referred to the Staff Cafeteria now being “fit for purpose”.

Of course, the Prison Officers would also indulge themselves in the highly gratifying pleasures of Staff Cafeteria ‘Foot Service’, during their official Tea-Breaks and Meal-Breaks, as well – subject to the sufficient availability of Prisoners, of course.

It was hard to estimate, how long I had performed Staff Cafeteria ‘Foot Service’ for Prison Officer Bella Donna, as my legs grew increasingly tired and weary, from standing in the same position on the concrete steps of the Staff Cafeteria ‘Foot Service’ hatch. But, I would guess that it was somewhere between 2 and 3 hours when, without a word, and totally ignoring the existence of the Prisoners, of whom they had so cruelly and callously subjected to Staff Cafeteria ‘Foot Service’ for the previous 2 – 3 hours, many of the Prison Officers began to vacate their comfortably padded, red leather bench-seats, and I surmised that it was now the end of their shift.

And, my guess was proved correct, as, for the next 3 – 4 hours (I later learned that, apart from the ‘Statutory Six’ cane strokes, that Prison Officer Billie Jo had earlier summarily brutally administered to Ross’s bare buttocks, for having the insolence to request that he be allowed to work in the Staff Cafeteria today with me, instead of in the Kitchen, there were other ‘Statutory Six’s, such as the duration of Prisoner day-jobs), as now, Ross and I, and Prisoners Michael and Alex (who had been ‘specially released’, from their sweat-soaked, dreary duties today in the Laundry), and all of the other Prisoners who were also serving their ‘Statutory Six’ today, from the ‘Foot Service’ hatches in the floor of the Staff Cafeteria, were subjected to the appalling atrocities, of the almost invariably dirty and stinky, but invariably callous and cruel, tormenting and abusive flip flop feet of a seemingly endless succession of Prison Officers, who slap-slap-slap-slapped their flip flops against their heels, repeatedly, and monotonously, and maddeningly, right in front of our faces, and, who forced us to sniff and lick their dirty stinky feet, and who, in the novelty of the obvious advantages of their newly-found foot freedoms, gleefully and maliciously mauled our faces and invaded our mouths with both of their nasty feet, simultaneously – all in the line-of-duty. 

As long as I live, I shall never forget the mind-scarring, traumatizing horrors of serving my first ‘Statutory Six’, from ‘Foot Service’ hatch ‘B’ – Table 1, in the Staff Cafeteria of Greystone Prison.  

In comparison to performing Staff Cafeteria ‘Foot Service’,  performing ‘Foot Service’ for Prison Officers, with my legs fully inserted into the torpedo-tube-like holes under the bars of my cell, was like a holiday – just like the proverbial ‘walk in the park’.

And, working my ‘Statutory Six’ day-job – of which Prisoners often worked 2 in 1 day – in the Kitchen: where, on the orders of Mrs Ovens, the civilian Prison Cook, it seemed possible to half-cook your own fingers, as a result of frequently immersing your hands in the piping-hot soapy water of the wash-up sink, or be driven half insane, with the boredom of performing an unvarying and mind-numbingly repetitive chore, such as peeling sprouts (as Ross had earlier complained, to Prison Officer Billie Jo, “I spent 6 hours peeling the ruddy things!”) ; or sweeping the Exercise Yard, where you would be out in all weathers except heavy snow, plying a stiff brush, for hour after seemingly endless hour, along the vast and featureless rough concrete expanse of the Yard, and developing such aches in your arms and legs and back, that you would not previously have believed possible ; or mopping the Landing Floor, which was incredibly boring, and also hard on the back, and, under the constant and critical eyes of the Prison Officers, you dared not relax your efforts for even a moment, lest you suddenly found yourself with your arms and legs spread apart against the grey-painted bars of the nearest cell on the Landing, bare-bottomed, and receiving the ‘Statutory Six’ cane strokes by a keen-eyed (or bored – or simply cruel and malicious) Prison Officer ; or, even serving your ‘Statutory Six’ in the detested, hot and steamy and sweat-soaking conditions of the Laundry, endlessly washing and pressing and folding the bed-sheets, that every main hotel in the area sent to Greystone Prison to be laundered – all of these alternative Prison day-jobs, hideous as they were, were like a luxury, when compared with serving your ‘Statutory Six’, standing still on concrete steps for 6 hours, and with your head ridiculously and farcically protruding, from a ‘Foot Service’ hatch, set into the floor underneath one of the comfortably padded, red leather bench-seats in the Staff Cafeteria, and being cruelly and callously mauled and molested, and appallingly abused, by the dirty, stinky, malicious, and nasty feet of a seemingly endless succession, of Staff Cafeteria ‘Foot Service’ demanding Prison Officers. 

And, it was with an indescribable wave of relief, that I felt a tug at my ankles, and I heard the voice of a Prison Officer call up to me, “Prisoner! You can come down now. It’s time to go back to your cell”, and, when I had descended the few concrete steps to the corridor below, the dark complexioned Prison Officer, who I estimated to be in her mid to late 20’s, and who I later learned was Indian, snapped harshly and maliciously at my replacement, “Prisoner Peter! Get yourself up those steps, and get your stupid head through that ‘Foot Service’ hatch, now! Now, I said! You had better hurry, before I cane the crap out of you!”

Later, I would learn that my Staff Cafeteria ‘Foot Service’ replacement, was the very same Peter – Prison Officer Bella Donna’s former “limp dick” boyfriend – and who, apparently, had also fallen foul of the new ‘Crimes Against Women’ legislation, and had been convicted of ‘Un-Gentlemanly Conduct’ .

Then, the Indian Prison Officer turned her attention to me, “You, Prisoner David! Get moving! I’m taking you back to your miserable little hole, which is exactly where you belong, you pathetic little excuse for a man!”

Seeing her name-tag, I respectfully and reverently pointed out to her, “But, Officer Neesha, what about my cell-mate, Ross? He has been up there for as long as me. He’s---------“. “Shut up! How dare you answer back to me, Prisoner David? Get moving, back to your cell, now! We’ll soon see if the ‘Statutory Six’ helps to curb your wagging tongue for you!”

As soon as Officer Neesha had escorted me back to Landing 3, and to my “home, for the next 25 years” – Cell 3 B – she furiously shouted her vitriolic and obscene insults into my face, as she busied her fingers with the undoing of the buttons of my one-piece, boiler-suit-like Prison Uniform, and she then roughly pulled it down my arms and legs, until it was just an untidy and unseemly heap of ash-grey cloth draped around my ankles.

“Now, Prisoner David, turn around! Arms and legs apart, and hold onto those cell bars! Now, I’ll teach you to talk back to me, you foul and filthy creature! Now, I’ll teach you to keep a civil tongue in your stupid head, when addressing a Prison Officer! Oh, yes! Now, I’ll teach you! Now, I’ll teach you!!”

Now, Officer Neesha shrieked her outrage at me, and she was like a she-devil, as she poured every ounce of her angry strength into her ‘Statutory Six’ cane strokes, as I clung grimly onto the grey-painted cell bars of my “home, for the next 25 years” – Cell 3 B – as, one after another, her utterly devastating cane-strokes, heralded by a terrifying sounding whoo!, struck at the cheeks of my bare buttocks, and, bringing forth a flood of tears of anguish and humiliation, and of an acute sense of cruel injustice, as she interspersed her powerful and withering cane-strokes with her angry words.

“What about Ross, you asked me? Well, here is my answer, Prisoner David! So listen up!

“I” – thwack! –“Am” – thwack! – “Going” – thwack! – “Back” – thwack! – “For” – thwack! “Him” – thwack! 

“Now, Prisoner David, cover your-self up! The sight of your pathetic manhood offends me! Get into your cell, and assume the Regulation Position for ‘Foot Service’. When I return with your cell-mate, I shall put your uncivil tongue to its right and proper use – cleaning my feet!”

“Yes, Officer Neesha”, I replied, obediently and compliantly.

Extremely fortunately for me – but not for some other, hapless and unfortunate Prisoner – I was reprieved (on this occasion, though there would be many, many others) from performing ‘Foot Service’ for Officer Neesha, when a Prison Officer’s call for assistance was heard, and (as it always was, whenever that blood-curdling cry was heard), it was a case of ‘all hands to the pumps’, as the hapless and unfortunate Prisoner in question – Prisoner  Michael – was duly escorted by a party of 8 eager and vengeful, and all-but whooping, hop-skipping-and-jumping Prison Officers, who were the full compliment of Prison Officers stationed on the Landing, to the ‘Wheel of Chastisement’.

After the ‘entertainment’ was over, and the raucous and ribald uproar, of Prison Officers and Prisoners alike, calmed down, and Prisoner Michael was escorted back to his cell – needing to be half-dragged, half-carried, since, as Ross and I had witnessed, Prison Officer Carly had been granted her wish after all, of administering “a kick in the plums” – since this was the first time that we had been left alone in our cell, Ross and I now had the opportunity of becoming better acquainted. At first, we waited for each other to speak first, and, as the moments dragged by in a slightly uncomfortable silence, for want of something better to say, I blurted out, “Do you know, Ross, that continuous, and ever-present slap-slap-slap-slapping sound, of the Prison Officers’ flip flops slapping against their heels, even when they are sitting down, is already driving me bananas!”

To my heartfelt statement, my cell-mate replied, earnestly, “Well, Dave, my advice to you, is to get used to it, and get used to it fast!” 

After a few moments of a more comfortable and companionable silence passed, I enquired of Ross, conversationally, “So, mate, what’s your story then? I mean, we were rudely interrupted earlier, weren’t we, by those two horrible------“ “Ssshhh mate! Unless you fancy “a few turns” on ‘The Wheel’! If you are overheard by ‘The Blues’…..” there was no need for Ross to finish that sentence.

“Yeah, sorry mate, you’re right. I didn’t think. So Ross, you were telling me earlier why you are here in Greystone Prison, and for how long. Go on, mate”.

Well Dave, as I was saying earlier, I was convicted of 5 separate Counts, with each Count carrying 5 years, of ‘Un-Gentlemanly Conduct’, and Sentenced to 25 years in Greystone Prison.

“The first Count was for failing to give up my seat for a lady on the Tube train. But, I didn’t even see her, Dave! I was engrossed in my morning paper, reading about Miss England winning the Miss World Contest.

“The second Count was for failing to offer to help another lady on the Tube train, to get her overnight bag down from the overhead luggage compartment.

“The third Count, was for failing to------“, interrupting, I blurted, like a kid in some sort of childish contest, “Ha! That’s nothing, Ross!  I was convicted on 5 separate Counts of ‘Un-Gentlemanly Conduct’, too, and given a 25 years Prison Sentence!” I exclaimed, interrupting my cell-mate in mid-sentence.  

I went on, in incredulous tones, at recalling the dumbfounding shock I had felt at the seemingly extremely severe and over-the-top Sentence that had been awarded to me, by Her Worship Delia Downing.

“The first Count was for failing to help a lady off with her coat, at the restaurant where I took my girlfriend, Alison, for a slap-up meal on her 21^st birthday. Beat that!

“The second Count was for failing to assist another lady at the restaurant into her seat, at her dining table. Beat that!

“The third count was for failing to------“ , suddenly, there came that dreadful, and by now all-too-familiar noise, that menacing and ominous rattling of canes on cell bars, and the fast approaching slap-slap-slap-slapping sound of Prison Officers’ flip flop feet. Then, the angry and aggressive faces of 2 Prison Officers on Night Duty glared in at Ross and I, one of whom shouted, furiously, “Shut it, you two! Where do you think you are, a Debating Society? Or, do you want us to come in there and shut you up? Believe me, it would be our pleasure! It’s 10 o’clock! Lights out! And, shut up!”

After we had bedded down, on our ash-grey, thin and lumpy mattresses, and pulled our grey, coarse and scratchy blankets over ourselves as we settled down for sleep, Ross had to have the last word, as he almost invariably would, over the coming decades, “5 years in Prison, for failing to help a lady off with her coat, in a restaurant? That does sound a tad harsh, Dave. I’ll let you have that one”.

                                                                                            EPILOGUE.

                                  The ‘LOWE INSTITUTION for MALE BEHAVIOURAL OFFENDERS’      (L.I.M.B.O.)  

                                                                                      December, 24 – 2070. 

“There! That didn’t hurt, did it? That’ll keep you nice and quiet for another week, won’t it?” cooed volunteer Carers Billie Jo and Bella Donna, in unison, to Ross and I, after withdrawing the wicked-looking needles of their hypodermic syringes from our bottoms.

Volunteer Carer Billie Jo commented, callously, “Oh, the fuss they make, Bel! You’d think they would be used to it by now, wouldn’t you? I’ve never known anything like them!”

“Huh! Not these two, BJ. They’re like a pair of overgrown cry babies – all they are missing are the nappies”, observed volunteer Carer Bella Donna, sardonically.

Ross and I are both 71, now. To me – and to Ross also, he assures me – it feels more like 101.

People, these days, tend to live to be well over 100 years old, and, the thought of living for another 30 + years in this dreadful Institution – especially if Billie Jo and Bella Donna are going to continue to ‘Care’ for us – doesn’t bare thinking about.

It’s a lot different, of course, for Billie Jo and Bella Donna. Life has been kind to them, and, apart from their hideous concave bob hairstyles, which they have continued to favour, after their retirement as Prison Officers at Greystone Prison, they are still looking good for their age, at 73. Though not, of course, to Ross and I, who have spent the last 50 years, loathing the very sight of them.

They are fit and active, full of joie de vivre, sport a healthy-looking all-year-round tan from their regular and frequent sunshine holidays in the Canary Islands , and they are happy in their work, as volunteer Carers at L.I.M.B.O.

And, Billie Jo and Bella Donna are just as proud as punch that their daughters – Amy Lou and Anne Marie, respectively – have followed in their own professional footsteps.

And, as Ross and I know very well – from listening to Billie Jo and Bella Donna’s countless and often repeated, proud as punch conversations and stories about their wonderful daughters, of which they never tire of regaling themselves in our presence, and that are constantly being updated, with ever more new and amusing anecdotes – Amy Lou and Anne Marie have made fine, highly satisfying and extremely gratifying careers for themselves, as Prison Officers at Greystone Prison.  

The pleasant and kind voice of the Head-Carer – Mrs Caremore – sang out to Billie Jo and Bella Donna, “BJ! Bella! I’m just popping into town to get the patients prescriptions from the doctor! I’ll be back in half an hour!” “Right oh!”, replied Billie Jo and Bella Donna, in unison – and, who were now left alone in charge of the patients.

Wasting not a moment, volunteer Carers Billie Jo and Bella Donna took hold of the wheelchairs that Ross and I occupied, and, with the ease of much practise, quickly manoeuvred our wheelchairs to the edge of the low-hanging wall, that our wheelchairs would fit under, but not our heads, and under which, the gas and electricity meters were located, and above which, was the Patients Lounge.

Now, Ross and I watched, in hopeless resignation, as volunteer Carers Billie Jo and Bella Donna all-but skipped up the steps to our left that led up to the Patients Lounge.

Then, a moment later, volunteer Carers Billie Jo and Bella Donna were standing against the safety-rail of the Patients Lounge, with their backs to us, directly in front of our compliant and reconciled faces, and, in unison, they crossed their right ankles over their left ankle, and, they immediately proceeded slap-slap-slap-slap slapping their right, Greystone Prison Uniform issue, pale-blue, thin rubber-soled flip flop – they were thoughtfully kept well supplied with these very comfortable footwear items, by their daughters, Amy Lou and Anne Marie – against their right heel, repeatedly, monotonously, and maddeningly, right in front of our faces, and close enough for Ross and I to feel the draught from every maddening slap.

Then, after a minute or 2, I saw the sight that I knew better than the backs of my own hands, as volunteer Carer Bella Donna let slip her right flip flop, and, reaching her right foot back, slightly, she pressed the sole of her slightly clammy, offensively tangy, sour vinegary-smelling, long toed, slender, high-arched, and grimy-heeled right foot, right into the middle of my face.

Now, I knew what I must do, now, and always – what I had been doing for the last 50 years, and must continue to do.

For, as I respectfully and reverently kissed the ball of volunteer Carer Bella Donna’s slightly clammy right foot – as, in the words of that lady, my kiss must “fully transmit to me, the sincerity of the respect and the reverence that is demanded of you”, I summoned the image of the sweet and lovely face of my long-lost love, my darling Alison, just as she was, at the restaurant on her 21^st birthday – drop-dead-gorgeous. And, I began to weep my bitter tears of grief and regret, and of remorse and repentance, in the fervent belief, that summoning up the sacred image of my sweetheart, for such a hideous purpose as this – self-protection – must be the most heinous, of unspeakable and unforgivable betrayals of my darling.

Then, and apparently satisfied, as to the sincerity of the respect and the reverence of my kiss, volunteer Carer Bella Donna began to play her pink and tender toe pads over my lips, rubbing them, caressing them, gently, repeatedly, monotonously, and maddeningly, in what was her unvarying habit, and her routine ritual, and her pre-foot-cleaning prelude.

Now, volunteer Carer Bella Donna cupped her long toes around my captive and helpless nostrils, obliging me to inhale the more concentrated odour of her offensively tangy, sour vinegary-smelling foot-stink, from under and in-between her toes, as she repeatedly cupped and un-cupped them around my nostrils.

Now, volunteer Carer Bella Donna unceremoniously inserted all 5 toes of her right foot into my mouth, her long toes, playing and probing, cavorting and capering about, and clutching my tongue, the taste of her toes, terrible and nauseating, and causing a polluted saliva of acrid and corrosive bubbles to break out on my tongue, and forming a horrid, rancid soup, that frothed up, and seeped from my lips and dripped down my chin in a continuous and disgusting overflow.

And, as I stared at the extreme close-up image, of volunteer Carer Bella Donna’s grimy heel, mere inches from my eyes, as her terrible toes played their games and wreaked their havoc inside my compliant and reconciled mouth, I knew, that this was the foot – her right, grimy-heeled foot – that had, 50 years ago, as I had rotated around upon that devilish device of discipline, the ‘Wheel of Chastisement’, with my legs set apart and firmly secured, administered her cruel coup de grace, her expertly and mercilessly delivered double-flick-kick, violently and venomously, to my exposed and vulnerable balls – “Right in the goolies! Hahahaha!” – the tops of her toes, distinctly felt, in an utterly devastating, gut-churning, retch-inducing connection, that sent wave after wave of nauseous, resonating, vibrating, agonizing pulses spreading throughout my body and mind, in a seemingly endless and barely diminishing onslaught.

And, I knew, that this was the foot – her right, grimy-heeled foot – that had double-flick-kicked me, devastatingly and witheringly, right between my legs, the tops of her toes, distinctly felt, and kicking away the last shreds of my resistance and defiance of her authority – her unquestioned authority.

And, I knew, that this was the foot – her right, grimy-heeled foot – that had double-flick-kicked my helpless and defenceless testicles, the tops of her toes, distinctly felt, in a cruel and crushing connection, that had left me sagging from the 2 leather wrist restraints, upon the ‘Wheel of Chastisement’, as Prison Officers and Prisoners alike, had roared their hearty approval.

And, I knew, that this was the foot – her right, grimy-heeled foot – that had double-flick-kicked me, right in “the plums”, the tops of her toes, distinctly felt, and, in the throes of such a colossal upheaval of body and mind, scrambling my psyche, into the brand-new mind-set and into a brand-new mould, that, of a ‘Model Prisoner’ – unthinkingly obedient – and guaranteeing, that I would, in future, unhesitatingly and unquestioningly obey an order issued to me by a Prison Officer.

Then, the pleasant and kind voice of the Head-Carer at L.I.M.B.O., Mrs Caremore, sang out again, “BJ! Bella! I’m back!”

“Right oh!” responded volunteer Carers Billie Jo and Bella Donna, in unison, as they all-but skipped down the steps from the Patients Lounge, full of the joys of life, and with their Greystone Prison issue, pale-blue, thin rubber-soled flip flops, highly irritatingly, annoyingly, and maddeningly, slap-slap-slap-slapping against their heels, as they went.

Once in control of our wheelchairs, again, volunteer Carers Billie Jo and Bella Donna chatted excitedly about their imminent Christmas Festivities.

“Have you bought all your presents yet, Bel?”

“Yes, have you, BJ? It’s a bit late now if you haven’t!”

“I’ve just got 1 or 2 last minute presents to get for the grandkids, but that’s all. Oh, I love having our 2 big families getting together every Christmas, and I’m really looking forward to Christmas this year, Bel, especially as Christmas Dinner is at your house, tomorrow, and it’s your turn to do the cooking, and all of the tedious and time-consuming veg-prep, hahaha!”, Billie Jo ribbed her life-long friend and colleague, jokingly.

As volunteer Carers Billie Jo and Bella Donna loaded our wheelchairs into the chairlift that would take us to the Patients Lounge, volunteer Carer Bella Donna replied, “Ah, it’s funny you should mention that, BJ”.

As soon as we were in the Patients Lounge, volunteer Carer Bella Donna handed Ross and I a small knife and a large bag of sprouts each, and exclaimed, maliciously, “Happy Christmas David! Happy Christmas Ross! Here are your Christmas Presents. Now, you can make yourselves useful, and peel that little lot for me, to save me from having to do it. Hahahaha!”

Then, volunteer Carers Billie Jo and Bella Donna gratefully sat themselves down – for, they were no spring chickens, any more – into 2 of the very comfortable, Patients Lounge armchairs.

And, as they softly sighed their quiet contentment, in unison, they crossed their right ankle over their left ankle, and, they immediately proceeded to cause their right, Greystone Prison issue, pale-blue, thin rubber-soled flip flop, to slap-slap-slap-slap against their right heel, highly irritatingly, annoyingly, and maddeningly.

                                                                    THE  END.