Community Service Ch. 03

I heard the dreadful, Whoo! sound of C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda's flexible, whippy canes as they stood to either side of me, preparing to deliver six strokes of the cane each to my totally exposed bare bottom.

As the unpleasantly tangy, cheesy odour of Mrs Newlove's white-socked feet began to infiltrate my nostrils, I heard the almost simultaneous Whoo! Whoo! and Crack! Crack! of C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda's canes as, in tandem, they administered the first of their six strokes each.

The pain was instant. And incredible. Mind-numbing and body-wracking. My bare buttocks were at once aflame. Burning with a red-hot, intolerable agony from the viciously delivered cane strokes.

I was shocked to the core, at experiencing such pain. I opened my mouth wide, but could only emit an indiscernible-at-the-level-of-human-hearing, almost silent scream.

After just the first of C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda's zealously-applied cane strokes, I'd already had enough -- more than enough!

"No! No more!! Please ... Please, I promise ... I'll keep a civil tongue in my head, if—"

Whoo! Whoo! Crack! Crack!

"Aaaahhhh!! Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!" I wailed, finding my voice at last, as C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda's second cane strokes seared my bare buttocks again, like a pair red-hot irons, flash-branding my behind.

And Mrs Newlove, Gina Stainham, and Cheryl Chubb laughed delightedly.

The pain beggared belief. In a ferment of writhing, agonised agitation, I was flinging my head from side to side ... So Mrs Newlove pushed her cheesy-smelling, white-socked toes right under my nostrils, and kept me facing front.

C.S.O. Linda said derisively, "I knew double-oh-seven would be a baby about this: a lot of noise, over next to nothing ... Are you ready, Karen? Cane stroke number three?"

"No! No!! Please, Miss Linda! I've had enough! Please! I've learned my lesson! I have! I have! Honest, I have! I'll keep a civil tongue in my—"

"I know what'll keep community servant David quiet ..." said Mrs Newlove, peeling off, and automatically turning inside out her cheesy white socks, "... this!" she said, as she gleefully stuffed the first, and then the second of her cheesy-odoured, turned-inside-out, dirty white socks into my mouth.

She crammed them in. Her poking, slender, long-nailed fingers, filling up my cheeks with the upper parts of her socks; the turned-inside-out soles, covering my tongue, and the roof of my mouth -- my palate.

"Ha ha ha ha!!" Mrs Newlove guffawed, at the sight of my bulging-cheeked face -- bulging, with her noisome, dirty white socks!

"Pre-wash!" exclaimed Mrs Newlove with malicious glee. "You can pre-wash my dirty socks, David. Ha ha ha ha! That will keep you quiet!" she laughed uproariously. As did her highly amused recliner companions, Gina Stainham and Cheryl Chubb.

I had never felt so wretched. Just how bad, could things get? Surely, this was the lowest of the low -- my nadir: My neighbour from hell, Mrs Newlove, personally stuffing her cheesy, turned-inside-out, dirty white socks into my mouth -- while I was handcuffed to the front legs of her recliner; my captive face, available to her, right at her stinky bare feet!

But, no. It wasn't my nadir. Not yet. It was about to get even worse. As Mrs Newlove had already proven, she knew a thing or two, about laundry ...

At the horrible, disgusting, tangy-cheese taste of her dirty, sweaty socks, I felt the inside of my mouth getting increasingly wet ... Automatically forming saliva, I realised, to my absolute horror.

And, I had no control, over the natural reaction. Had no choice -- as my mouth steadily filled with saliva, like a programmed washing machine flooding with water -- but to "pre-wash" Mrs Newlove's turned-inside-out, dirty white socks.

Whoo! Whoo! Crack! Crack!

I yelled in agony, through my mouthful of Mrs Newlove's dirty white socks, "Uurrmmph! Uuuurrrrmmmmph!!"

And Mrs Newlove, Gina Stainham and Cheryl Chubb tittered, chuckled and giggled in great amusement.

Mrs Newlove gleefully cupped my nostrils in the tangy-cheese odoured toes of one bare foot, and exultantly flexed, splayed, wiggled and scrunched the toes of her other tormenting bare foot, right in front of my eyes, as C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda continued to administer my chastisement.

How unspeakably hideous! By the end of today, I knew, Mrs Newlove would have told all of her friends, and all of our neighbours, about this -- her utter, comprehensive humiliation of me.

Whoo! Whoo! Crack! Crack!

"Uurrmmph! Uuuurrrrmmmmph!!" I moaned miserably, half out of my mind, by now, from such undreamed-of agony.

And Mrs Newlove, Gina Stainham and Cheryl Chubb tittered, chuckled and giggled some more.

I didn't know which was worse: C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda's devastating cane strokes to my bare bottom ... Or Mrs Newlove's devastating humiliation of me.

Whoo! Whoo! Crack! Crack!

Hmm ... There wasn't a lot in it, but ... Yep -- it was definitely the caning, that was the hardest to endure.

Mrs Newlove had already humiliated me. And I couldn't turn the clock back. She would always have this glorious triumph, to mercilessly taunt me with. To hold over me -- and never let me live it down.

And, although Mrs Newlove's cheesy-smelling feet were horrible and disgusting, and the harrowing ordeal of her thrusting them into my face, and being forced to watch her triumphal, exultant toe-wiggling, splaying, and scrunching, was a hideous experience, still, it in no way compared to the merciless caning of my bare bottom by my two zealous supervisors, C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda.

Whoo! Whoo! Crack! Crack!

At last, my twelve-strokes-of-the-cane chastisement having been duly administered, C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda removed their handcuffs from my wrists.

C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda had stopped caning my bare bottom. But the pain didn't stop. And, it was going to keep on hurting -- the fire was going to keep on raging -- for a long while yet, I knew.

I pulled up my shorts, and moved away from the foot of Mrs Newlove's recliner -- away from the soles of her stinky, tormenting bare feet. And I immediately pulled her noisome, tangy-cheese-flavoured dirty white socks out of my mouth, disgustedly spitting out bits of foul fluff, grit, and ... dead skin!

Ugh! I'd never get rid of her socks' sour, tangy-cheesy taste, I thought, as I disgustedly flung them into the open-topped, main hopper.

Mrs Newlove laughingly mock-complained, "Hey! What are you doing, David? You should pre-wash our dirty socks, for at least two hours -- to loosen up all of the dirt, foot sweat and dead skin. Haven't you learned anything today? Ha ha ha ha!"

Surely, things couldn't get any worse, I thought ... And then the door to the Sock Room opened, and someone entered -- Miss Pardew, Canford High's schoolgirls' PE teacher.

Upon her seeing me, Miss Pardew said, "Ah, community servant David. I've got another little job for you: Year Two's dirty sports socks. But there's not as much urgency for these socks. I won't be needing these back, until Fri—" she broke off abruptly, upon her seeing the still-rising sea of suds on the basement floor.

Miss Pardew said, concernedly, "Are -- are those Year Five's sports socks in those tubs, by any chance, community servant David?"

"Er ..." I said.

C.S.O. Karen said, "Never mind about that for now, Miss Pardew -- we've got some stuff that will kill the suds in no time ... Miss Pardew, I've just heard, that—"

"Karen, please," said Miss Pardew. "Your not at Canford High, any more. Call me Polly."

"Polly, I've just heard that community servant David, here, has been uncooperative and disrespectful, towards you ...?"

"Ah, yes! Yes! He has indeed! I wanted to have a word with you about that, Karen. To absolutely insist upon seeing community servant David being suitably brought to heel. But I was very pushed for time this morning, because I had to rush back for Year Two's volleyball class. Yes -- his behaviour towards me this morning, was inexcusable! Quite intolerable. In fact, his manners are not at all what they ought to be -- for a community servant!" complained Miss Pardew, and bearing out Mrs Newlove's litany of damning, word-for-word, eye-witness evidence against me.

In response, C.S.O. Linda said, "I think I've heard enough. Here you are, Miss Pard— sorry, I mean Polly. Here you are, Polly, here's my cane. You can teach him some manners -- bring him to heel -- yourself ... if you like?"

Oh, no ... oh, please ... no ... I thought.

"Miss Pardew," I said. "If you would just care to cast your mind back to this morning, I think you will remember that I did, actually apologise ...?"

"Do you know, Linda ... Actually, I don't mind if I do!" said Miss Pardew, eagerly accepting C.S.O. Linda's proffered cane.

"Community servant David double-oh-seven!" snapped C.S.O. Linda authoritatively. "Assume the position! Prepare to receive chastisement: Six strokes of the cane, administered to your bare bottom, by Miss Pardew."

I wanted to shout out, 'No! She can't -- she's not official!' But I didn't. Because I knew that C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda would consider me to have compounded my offence, and award extra cane strokes accordingly.

Once again, as per the C.S.O.'s chastisement textbook, C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda grabbed either side of the elasticated waist of my uniform shorts, and pulled them down around my ankles, preparatory to the administering of chastisement.

Once again, I found myself handcuffed to the front legs of Mrs Newlove's recliner -- helpless, at her mercilessly tormenting feet. And the lower bar, of the two-barred safety railing, was once again against the back of my neck, ensuring that I was held in place -- not unlike the stocks in the town centre, I thought dismally.

And, once again, I found the Florida-holiday-tanned soles of Mrs Newlove's stinky bare feet, right in my face. The extreme-close-up details, inescapable: the medium-high arches of her feet, soft, and a creamy pale contrast; her rather wide soles, tinged a reddish-pink at the bottoms of her heels, the balls of her feet, and the pads of her toes.

Gleefully clutching my nostrils, in the undersides of the cheesy-odoured bare toes of one foot, ankles crossed, she exultantly flexed, splayed, wiggled and scrunched the toes of her other bare foot, right in front of my eyes. Her toenails, I saw, between her repeating toe-scrunches, were painted a pale pink colour.

Behind me, I heard the terrible whooshing sound of the cane again -- as Miss Pardew, this time -- readied herself to administer chastisement: Six strokes of the cane, to my bare bottom.

"No ... Miss Pardew. No. No, please ... no. I -- I said I was sorry, didn't I, Miss Pardew? Didn't I? And -- and I said I'd have Year Five's sports socks—"

Cheryl Chubb followed Mrs Newlove's example, and quickly put a stop to my pathetic whinging. I knew I was whinging pathetically, but I couldn't help it! I had to try and prevent what I knew was about to happen -- again!

Cheryl Chubb peeled her dirty, grimy (from walking about shoeless) white socks from her feet; automatically turning them inside out, as she did so. She stuffed first one, and then her other sock into my mouth.

Just as Mrs Newlove had done, with her own socks, Cheryl Chubb crammed her own, turned-inside-out, dirty, grimy white socks into my mouth. Roughly inserting them, and pushing and prodding them in place with her stubby fingers: the upper parts of her long white leisure socks, stuffed into my cheeks, and causing them to bulge ridiculously; the soles of her socks, covering my tongue, and the roof of my mouth -- my palate.

How unspeakably wretched did I feel as, upon my palate registering the repulsively sour, acidic and pungent flavours of Cheryl Chubb's turned-inside-out, dirty, sweaty, grimy white socks, like a programmed washing machine filling with water, my mouth automatically flooded with saliva, and began its "pre-wash" cycle.

Whoo! Crack!

"Your manners leave a lot to be desired, community servant David!" Miss Pardew informed me.

Whoo! Crack!

"You are insubordinate, insolent, and intransigent -- and I am determined to bring you to heel!"

Whoo! Crack!

"Your bahaviour towards me this morning, was inexcusable!"

Whoo! Crack!

"Quite intolerable!"

Whoo! Crack!

"In fact, your manners are not at all what they ought to be -- for a community servant!"

Oh, my God!

It had been bad enough -- more than enough! -- after C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda had each given me their six chastising strokes of the cane. But now, with Miss Pardew getting in on the act as well -- and, with a vengeance! -- my bare buttocks felt as if they were literally ablaze.

Miss Pardew, I strongly suspected, was carefully aiming her cane strokes at the painful wounds C.S.O.'s Karen and Linda had inflicted. Deliberately targeting my tender, already agonisingly sore places.

And now -- to add insult to injury -- terribly sour, horrible tastiing juice, was seeping into my mouth. Drenching my palate ... and leaving me no option, but to swallow.

And, it was to my absolute horror and dismay, that, in an awful, dreadful, unpreventable gagging reflex action, I felt my throat working. Gulping, of its own volition.

Whoo! Crack!

"In future, you will address me with civility, with courtesy -- with respect!" Miss Pardew instructed me.

Mrs Newlove, Gina Stainham and Cheryl Chubb tittered, chuckled and giggled in amusement, at hearing my increasingly agonised, and increasingly anguished moans as, righteous-voiced, Miss Pardew mercilessly chastised me.

And, I had no option, as my throat continued to act of its own accord, but to continue to swallow the foul and revolting, sour and acidic, dirty-sock juice.

No option, but to actually consume the disgusting, vile liquid, consisting of the dirt, grime, foot sweat, and dead skin; the concentrated, stomach-turning, saliva-disolved, liquifying essence -- the effluent -- of Cheryl Chubb's turned-inside-out, dirty, grimy, sweaty white socks ...

... As, triggered by those hideous, loathsome and repugnant, palate-drenching flavours, my mouth continued to salivate. Continued to spurt more and more saliva, into Cheryl Chubb's turned-inside-out, dirty white socks, 'automatically' "pre-washing" them.

Whoo! Crack!

"I shall bring you to heel, community servant David -- if it is the last thing I do!" promised Miss Pardew.

The diabolically tormenting Mrs Newlove, and the almost equally infuriating Gina Stainham and Cheryl Chubb, tittered, chuckled and giggled some more.

"Ha ha ha ha!" laughed C.S.O. Linda. "That's right, Polly ... Teach double-oh-seven to keep a civil tongue in his head!"

"Yes! Ha ha ha ha!" laughed C.S.O. Karen. "Go on, Polly, let him have it -- bring him to heel! Keep going, Polly -- we're not counting! Have as many cane strokes as you like. Sock it to Sock Boy! Ha ha ha ha!"

"Yes!" agreed my neighbour from hell, Mrs Norma Newlove. "Yes! Bring him to heel!" she encouraged with great fervour, still clutching my nostrils in her cheesy-odoured bare toes; the toes of her other bare foot, exultantly flexing, wiggling, splaying and scrunching, right in front of my tearing-up eyes.

"Yes! Yes!!" urged Mrs Newlove gleefully. "His manners are not at all what they ought to be -- for a community servant!"

*

Community Service continues, in Ch. 4.