The Heel Bar Ch. 03

And the wonder of it!

Licking, sucking on, dissolving and swallowing down the same Saturday-shift run-off-her-feet grubby build-up that I could see on the bottom of Chloe's work-begrimed sweat-smudged inch-away right heel, as for one fleeting second she tantalisingly revealed it as with absentminded regularity she heel-popped.

"When you're ready, Ben: I think we are all ready for our next round now," said Ms Leasome.

I heard the rattling of part-melted ice cubes in drained highball glasses: the barmaids' confirmation that they were ready for another.

"At once, Ms Leasome!" responded the barmaid Rosalind's self-excluding foot servant.

What? So soon? To my astonishment, my watch showed that time had flown to 03:05.

I could hear Barkeep Ben jumping to it: the tinkling of ice cubes being shovelled out of the ice bucket and into five highball glasses; the snappy uncapping and bubble-popping pouring of bottled mixers; and finally, the sound of a sharp knife on a cutting-board as Ben measured off Ms Leasome's fresh slice of lime.

Then again followed the five muted thuds on the bar top and the tinkling of fresh ice cubes as devotee Ben -- the barmaid Rosalind's self-disqualifying under-her-heel, token-consolation-accepting after-hours-drinks barkeep -- placed the refilled highball glasses on the coasters in front of Ms Leasome and her four barmaids on duty tonight.

"Hmm ... that's nice," said Chloe after taking the first pull on her latest Bacardi and coke and returning her glass to her coaster on the bartop with a soft thunk.

I didn't know if Chloe was referring to her refreshing drink or the pleasing sensations occasioned by my tongue's in-between-the-toes explorations.

I had already cleaned to a sparkly shine the bottom of Chloe's left heel and now, plunging them ball-of-the-foot deep she had inserted into my mouth the toes of the same foot, which I interpreted as another unspoken instruction: to tongue-bathe her toes while she relaxed on her high barstool with another drink.

The amalgamations of Chloe's under- and in-between-the-toes flavours that I licked, sucked on, dissolved and swallowed down were different; more complex, than the soluble sweat-smudged accretions I had cleansed from the bottom of her grubby heel.

Starting between Chloe's big and second toes, slowly I worked towards her little toe -- and then I backtracked, reversing the painstaking procedure.

Barely two inches in front of my eyes, I watched the continual appearance-disappearance-reappearance of the bottom of Chloe's begrimed right heel as with unthinking regularity she heel-popped.

But now I lost myself in the wonder of Chloe's post-work under- and in-between-the-toes flavours, totally consumed by the tastes and textures as I myself thoroughly consumed -- licked, sucked on, dissolved and swallowed.

From the corner of my left eye, and then my right eye, I saw that their heads, inserted and encaptured within Barstools 8 and 10's 18-inch diameter rounded-rimmed chrome footrests, after-work-drinks barstool facilitators Neil Nelson and Larry Larson were similarly prevailed upon by Ms Leasome and the barmaid Rosalind respectively.

"I think we're all just about ready for another one now, thank you, Ben," said Ms Leasome.

"I'm on it, Ms Leasome!" responded the barmaid Rosalind's ever-obliging after-hours bartender -- willing-volunteer barstool facilitator Ben Benson (Barstool Footboy 29).

Yet again, the barmaid Rosalind's No. 1 admirer got busy as bid with his token-consolation activities behind the bar.

To my surprise, my watch showed me that time had raced ahead again; had shot forward to 03:35.

The efficient Ben the Barkeep had soon served the next round of drinks to Ms Leasome and the four barmaids, working his way as usual from Barstool 6 to Barstool 10 and placing each of their fresh drinks down on their coasters before them politely: "Miss Leanne; Miss Camilla; Ms Leasome; Miss Chloe ... and Miss Rosalind."

Listen to the poor chump -- he really had it bad for his special-one the barmaid Rosalind.

And now, kicking off her right well-worn black leather flat onto the narrow platform/walkway in front of her barstool, Chloe reached the now bare sole of her right foot the mere inches necessary to cup my nostrils under her toes as she took her first pull from what had to be her sixth or seventh post-work Bacardi and coke.

Oh -- the wonder of it!

The heart-racing realities of facilitating the barmaid Chloe's after-hours-drinks barstool were far surpassing my insipid by comparison imaginings of the past four weeks during my ardently adoring dead-of-night devotions.

And now, as I sucked on and in between the toes of Chloe's ball-of-the-foot deep left foot while inhaling the under- and in-between-the-toes-scent of her right foot while staring at the sweat-smudged grubby bottom of her inch-away right heel, such was my excitement, I—

"Oh, well, it's four o'clock ... come on, girls. Let's call it a night, shall we?" suggested Ms Leasome to my dismay.

"We'd better let our devotees go home to bed," said Ms Leasome; although she, herself was making no move yet to uninstall her reward-based after-hours-favour winning devotee tonight, Neil Nelson, out from under her post-work-drinks barstool.

In fact, none of the four barmaids had said anything in response to Ms Leasome's Let's-call-it-a-night suggestion.

Chloe's Your-work-tonight-is-not-yet-done reaction was to remove the now sucked-clean toes of her left foot from my mouth to curl them around her barstool's rounded-rimmed chrome footrest to secure purchase, and to hook her bare right foot behind her left ankle, presenting to my inches-away eyes her grubby, work-begrimed sweat-smudged right sole.

"After all, they need their rest; they've all got another long evening of willing-volunteer barstool facilitation tomorrow. That is ..." said Ms Leasome, now directing her voice down to her successful devotee tonight, Neil Nelson, "... if they want to compete again against their rivals for our after-hours favours."

Chloe now said, "Ms Leasome ... why don't we all have another?"

I heard the supportive endorsements to Chloe's suggestion from the other three barmaids, followed by the meaningful rattling of the part-melted ice cubes in their drained-again highball glasses.

"Have another, Chloe?" said Ms Leasome.

"Yes, Ms Leasome. Let's all have another."

"Am I right, Chloe, in my ... wild guess as to your reason?"

"Yes, Ms Leasome: I want all of you to join me in celebration.

"Not only, of male citizen Carl Carson's graduation to willing-volunteer facilitator of Barstool Nine, to the immense gratification of his Case Worker at the Job Centre, my friend Pam.

"But after his more than acceptable trial performance tonight, his confirmed status as a devotee to me, and thereby a legitimate contender to challenge his rival devotees to win my reward-based after-hours favour to facilitate my post-work-drinks barstool."

"Um, Ben ..." the barmaid Rosalind said sweetly "... if it's not too much of an imposition ...? Do you think I might presume upon your indulgence to wait on us all for another half-hour or so?"

"Miss Rosalind -- absolutely, yes! It's no imposition. You only have to ask," gushed the hopelessly besotted Ben Benson, the barmaid Rosalind's slave in all but name.

Ms Leasome said, "Well, in that case ... Ben? We'll all have another: A celebratory drink, to toast male citizen Carl coming into our fold as Chloe's latest devotee."

"Yes, Ms Leasome -- coming right up!"

"My barmaids can have whatever they like. In fact, the occasion calls for champagne. Ben, you can crack open a couple of bottles of bubbly -- the Heel Bar's finest."

"Yes, Ms Leasome. There's a few bottles on-ice. I had an idea that tonight might turn out to be a special occasion."

"Good thinking, Ben, and thank you. In fact, you can grab a beer yourself, to join us in our little celebration."

"Thank you, Ms Leasome, you are very kind."

"But Ben: mine's a double-gin and tonic with lots of ice -- and don't forget the slice of lime."

"Yes, Ms Leasome, and I won't forget the slice of lime," said Ben, already busying himself behind the bar again.

"Good. Because it makes all the difference," said Ms Andrea Leasome, proprietress of the Heel Bar on Tockenham Coat Road.

The End.