Community Service Ch. 10

Blondie, having already put away at least two tongue-loosening vodka martinis, was now speaking uninhibitedly and with extreme frankness about her lustful attraction for their hunky office guy, and expounding graphically on some of her sexual aspirations in that direction.

It was as if I wasn't even there - well, not really, in any meaningful way: I was just part of the furniture.

"Go for it!" Blondie's office colleague and friend Beryl exclaimed encouragingly. "You only live once!"

Warming to the salacious conversation and its juicy details, Beryl had now kicked off her dangling shoe - well, not kicked it off, exactly; she'd hooked the heel over her high barstool's chrome circular supporting bar, where it made for easy retrieval. And, resting her now shoeless foot on my imprisoning if well-padded 'necklace', with her dark pantyhose covered toes she began toying with my right ear. Her toes were warm, and the sounds of her probing, absently exploring and playful nylon covered toes were raspy in my ear.

Blondie was now making absolutely no bones, as to the degree of her predatory bedroom ambitions with regards to the hunky office guy at the centre of her libidinous attentions. Making no secret, as to the extent of her amorous aims, should she manage to manipulate and machinate such a lecherous lustful liaison to come about. She said that if she could get Rory between the sheets, she would give him a night he would never forget. She would-

And then it hit me: Hunky guy's name was a name I knew!

The hunky office guy - Rory - I knew I'd heard his name somewhere before!

And it had to be him: There couldn't be many Lothario-like Rory's, roaring about the office and getting the legal secretaries all of a tizz.

I'd heard his name mentioned in such much-lauded terms before, by my two older sisters, Alison and Denise, who were both employed by the same town centre firm of solicitors: Black, Brown and Grey.

Which meant, so were Blondie and Ginger!

I then heard Blondie say pleasantly, her by now slightly slurred voice accompanied by the sounds of half-melted ice cubes rattling in the bottom of her proffered and now drained highball glass, "Same again, please, Belinda! When you get a sec."

It was Blondie's round: So, she and Beryl, the parched pair of post-work paralegals, were having yet another, winding-down, thirst quenching tipple.

Belinda was another of Foot Bar proprietress Jacqueline's hardworking, run-off-their-feet barmaids.

I heard Belinda reply familiarly, "Righto! Two vodka martinis, coming right up, Meryl!"

So ... Blondie and Ginger were Meryl and Beryl.

You couldn't make it up.

*

Friday - 11 pm.

"Come on, you! You're needed behind the bar - desperately!"

"Yes, Miss Crystal," I said respectfully, as crouching down beside me she sprung the catch of my imprisoning if well-cushioned 'necklace'.

At last, after sitting there on the floor between those two high barstools for five and a half hours, 'attending' at the feet of a succession of barstool-perched female imbibers - Blondie and Ginger (Meryl and Beryl) had left at about 7 o'clock - someone was freeing me from the blasted thing!

5:30 to 6:30 Happy Hour - my hat!

Crystal was another of Foot Bar proprietress Jacqueline's hardworking, rushed-off-their-feet - and, by now, footsore to distraction - barmaids.

Crystal opened the access flap at the end of the bar, waved me through, and followed after me.

Jacqueline and her other two barmaids were all busy at the pumps and optics, struggling to keep pace with the incoming drinks orders of their parched patrons - the Foot Bar was swinging.

At that moment, Joy, who wasn't much over five feet tall, happened to be reaching up, at the back of the bar, pressing a glass against the Bacardi optic. And, while she watched the dispenser automatically measure the clear liquid into the glass - a double - Joy took the opportunity to shake free from her right foot her four-inch heeled red leather pump, and I watched as she wiggled and scrunched her bright-red painted toes in grateful momentary relief.

"Oh! Thank heaven for you, Community servant David," said Joy feelingly, looking over her shoulder and catching the direction of my gaze.

"Er ... thank you, Miss Joy," I said respectfully.

"I could have done with you, a lot sooner!" Joy told me. "My feeeet!"

"A little impatiently, Crystal said, "Well, Community servant David, come on then ... you know what to do."

"Yes, Miss Crystal," I said respectfully.

Jacqueline's female bar staff, all of them somewhere in their early- to mid-twenties, were all real lookers. Not least, her three barmaids on duty tonight: Joy, Crystal and Belinda.

And yes, I knew what to do: Sit on the bar floor, cross-legged, positioned right up against the bar's raised serving platform, directly behind and facing toward the most-used pump - Foster's lager.

And if what had happened the last three Fridays was any guide, I knew that here I would remain until last orders were called, at 01:30, and served.

Crystal did a bit of precision fine-tuning of my positioning until she was satisfied I was stationed exactly right.

"Oh, thank Gawd - I need this! My feet are damned well killing me, Community servant David," Crystal told me.

"I', er ... I'm very sorry to hear that, Miss Crystal," I said respectfully.

"Two halves of Foster's lager, please, Crystal, if you're free!" called a decidedly sozzled-sounding female voice, yelling to make herself heard over the loud and thumpy music.

Standing on the other side of the bar, customers couldn't see me, and I couldn't see them. Which, even though the female patrons knew precisely where I was, and knew exactly what I was doing there, at least was a blessing.

Turning to me, Crystal said, "Now don't move an inch, Community servant David! Stay put, exactly as you are. And get ready for me!"

"Yes, Miss Crystal, " I said respectfully.

"Two halves of Foster's, coming right up!" responded Crystal brightly to the customer, stepping up onto the bar's raised serving platform, right in front of me.

Directly in front of me, the footsore Crystal slipped her right foot from her Foot Bar uniform four-inch heeled red leather pump, preparatory to availing herself of her much-needed first 'foot rub' of the evening.

The arch of her bare foot looked very pale when contrasted with the bottom of her rather red and rubbed heel, the ball of her foot, and even the pads of her toes - her killer pumps were murder on her feet.

I got ready ...

But, before Crystal could put the first of the two half-pint schooner glasses she'd picked up to the Foster's tap, Foot Bar proprietress Jacqueline intervened, piping up, "That's okay, Crystal - I'll see to those! Would you go and collect some empty glasses for me, please? And tidy the tables? There's a love!"

"Um ... yes, Jacqui. Of course," said Crystal, obediently, slipping her right foot back into her four-inch heeled red leather pump.

But, stepping down from the bar's raised serving platform to go and do her boss's glass-collecting and table-tidying bidding, Crystal's face was like thunder. Like thunder, at being usurped and deprived, right on the very point of blessed, almost giddying relief, of her by now desperately needed 'foot rub'.

And now it was the Foot Bar proprietress Jacqueline, herself, who stepped up onto the bar's raised serving platform, right in front of me, at the Foster's pump.

Again, I got ready ...

Jacqueline pulled down on the Foster's tap.

And as soon as the famed amber nectar was flowing and slowly filling the first of the two half-pint schooners, the Foot Bar proprietress shoogled her foot from her apparently rather tight-fitting right, four-inch heeled red leather pump. And, raising her shapely, olive-complexioned leg behind her, she sought my 'attending' face with the sole of her bare bronzed foot.

Sitting directly behind her, from this distance, and at this height, my 'attending' face was ideally placed for Jacqueline (and her footsore barmaids) to enjoy frequent, relieving and reinvigorating 'foot rubs' while serving at the most-used drink tap - the Foster's lager.

Jacqueline had been on her feet for hours, and, just like her three barmaids on duty tonight - Joy, Belinda and Crystal - the Foot Bar proprietress was more than ready for a 'foot rub'.

I'd done this before. So I knew exactly what was coming - and I knew exactly what was expected of me ...

And so when the olive-skinned sole of Jacqueline's bearings-finding right foot; at first, settled and came to rest, but then with gained confidence in my support and stability began pressing urgently into the relief-giving and comforting contours of my 'attending' face, I responded as required. I leant forward, into the community-servant-exploiting Foot Bar proprietress's marauding, advantage-taking sole, taking up the not inconsiderable strain of providing her at-the-Foster's-tap 'foot rub'.

The first of the half-pint schooner glasses now filled, Jacqueline placed the cold refreshing foam-capped drink on the beer towel on the bartop.

Now again, Jacqueline pulled down on the Foster's tap.

And, again, I got ready ...

And as soon as the Foot Bar's most popular brand lager was flowing and slowly filling the second of the two half-pint schooner glasses, the Foot Bar's proprietress shook and shuffled and jiggled free her foot from her left, rather tight-fitting four-inch heeled red leather pump. And, raising her lightly-tanned leg behind her, sought my 'attending' face with the sole of her bare foot.

Once again, I was obliged to lean in to take the not inconsiderable strain, as urgently and vigorously as she served the drink from Down-Under Jacqueline gratefully availed herself of her at-the-Foster's-tap 'foot rub'.

Firmly, the footsore Foot Bar proprietress rubbed her bare left sole into the relief-providing and sensually pleasing plains of my 'attending' face; her olive-skinned foot flesh, all hot, and sticky, and insatiably ... needy.

Jacqueline always hurt me - I don't think she meant to, or even realised it - but the Foot Bar proprietress always hurt me.

Carelessly crushing my nose with the bottom of her bare heel, and mindlessly mashing my lips with the ball of her foot, albeit (maybe) unintentionally and (possibly) unwittingly, with the soles of her footsore-to-distraction, rampaging, ravaging bare feet, Jacqueline brought tears to my eyes.

The second of the two half-pint schooner glasses now filled with amber nectar, Jacqueline placed the foam-topped, finding-the-spot drink along by the first, on the beer towel on the bar top.

With inexpressible relief, I watched Jacqueline now forcibly insert her bare, olive-complexioned foot back into her left, rather tight-fitting four-inch heeled red leather pump, take payment for the two halves of amber nectar, pay the money into the till, and then wander off to serve another customer, further down the bar.

But I knew my relief would be short-lived.

Crystal, who by now was halfway through washing the glasses she'd collected at the tables, was eyeing me longingly ... as it were.

I knew it wouldn't be long before another female patron ordered a Fost-

"Hey, Crystal, are you free?" called another pie-eyed sounding female. "Can I have two halves of Foster's, please?"

"Absolutely!" said Crystal, quickly towelling her hands dry of sudsy glasswasher water.

"Absolutely," repeated Crystal, stepping up onto the bar's raised serving platform, right in front of me, at the Foster's tap. "Two halves of Foster's, coming right up!"

Looking behind her and downward, Crystal said, "Get ready for me, Community servant David!"

"Yes, Miss Crystal," I said respectfully.

And, again, I got ready ...

Got ready, to take up the not inconsiderable strain, of providing a Foot Bar barmaid's at-the-Foster's-tap 'foot rub'.

Crystal pulled down on the Foster's tap.

And as soon as the amber nectar began to flow, slowly filling up the first of the two half-pint schooner glasses, the footsore-to-distraction Crystal gratefully eased free her right foot from her Foot Bar uniform four-inch heeled red leather pump, preparatory to availing herself of her first of the evening, at-the-Foster's-tap 'foot rub'.

If anything, the sole of Crystal's bare right foot now looked even more, sore and tender. The bottom of her heel, the ball of her foot, and even the pads of her toes, even more, red and rubbed. Hotter. Stickier. And ... needier.

I suppose I could have refused.

I suppose I could have denied Crystal, her much-needed and long-awaited at-the-Foster's-tap 'foot rub'.

I suppose I could have just got up, and walked right out of the Foot Bar.

I suppose I could have said: No, Miss Crystal. I will not, Miss Crystal, sit here on the floor, for you to rub the soles of your hot and sweaty, sticky, stinky feet in my face. I will not, Miss Crystal.

But instead, I got ready ...

Because, the way things were going, under the 'female-friendly' rule of Prime Minister Caroline Flynt's Authoritarian Female Party government, it would work out better for me, not to refuse.

For, as hideous, as heinous, and as humiliating an imposition as the at-the-Foster's-tap 'foot rub' was ... it was just easier to go along, to get along.

Community Service continues in Chapter 11.